THE  WOMAN  WHO  DARED. 


THE 


WOMAN  WHO  DARED. 


BY 


EPES    SARGENT. 


"  Honest  liberty  is  the  greatest  foe  to  dishonest  license." 

JOHN  MILTON. 


BOSTON : 
ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1870. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 

EPES     SARGENT, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS:  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


To 


t^PRING  saw  my  little  venture  just  begun; 
O 

And  then  your  hospitable  message  came, 

Inviting  me  to  taste  the  strawberries 

At  Strawberry  Hill.     I  went.    How  long  I  stayed. 

Urged  by  dear  friends  and  the  restoring  breeze, 

Let  me  not  say;  long  enough  to  complete 

My  rhythmic  structure ;  day  by  day  it  grew, 

And  all  sweet  influences  helped  its  growth. 

The  lawn  sloped  green  and  ample  till  the  trees 

Met  on  its  margin;  and  the  Hudsorfs  tide 

Rolled  beautiful  beyond,  where  purple  gleams 

Fell  on  the  Palisades  or  touched  the  hills 

Of  the  opposing  shore ;  for  all  without 

Was  but  an  emblem  of  the  symmetry 

I  found  within,  where  love  held  perfect  sway, 

With  taste  and  beauty  and  domestic  peace 

For  its  allies. 

We  do  not  praise  the  rose, 
Since  all  who  see  it  know  it  is  the  rose; 
And  so,  dear  lady,  praise  of  thee  would  seem, 


vi  Dedication. 

To  all  who  know  thee,  quite  superfluous. 
But  if  from  any  of  these  thoughts  be  shed 
Alight  of  the  fragrance  and  the  hue  of  truth. 
To  thee  I  dedicate  the  transient  flower 
In  which  the  eternal  beauty  reappears; 
Knowing,  should  poison  mingle  with  the  sweet, 
Thou,  like  the  eclectic  bee,  with  instinct  sure, 
Wilt  take  the  good  alone,  and  leave  the  bad. 


E.  S. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.    OVERTURE       ...»«...  i 

II.    THE  FATHER'S  STORY        .....  7 

III.  THE  MOTHER'S  STORY    ......  39 

Linda's  Lullaby 41 

IV.  PARADISE  FOUND    .".«....  93 

The  Mother's  Hymn        .        .        .        .        .  100 

V.    LINDA 115 

Help  me,  dear  Chords             .        •        •  143 

Be  of  good  Cheer         .        .        .        .        .        .  147 

VI.    BY  THE  SEASIDE         .......  177 

Linda's  Song .189 

Under  the  Pines 203 

VII.    FROM  LINDA'S  DIARY 211 

VIII.    FROM  MEREDITH'S  DIARY         .  235 

IX.    BESIDE  THE  LAKE 249 


NOTES      .  263 


THE  WOMAN   WHO   DARED. 


I. 

OVERTURE. 

T3LEST  Power  that  canst  transfigure  common 

things, 
And,    like    the    sun,    make    the    clod    burst    in 

bloom,  — 

Unseal  the  fount  so  mute  this  many  a  day, 
And  help  me  sing  of  Linda  !     Why  of  her, 
Since  she  would  shrink  with  manifest  recoil, 
Knew  she  that  deeds  of  hers  were  made  a  theme 


•2;::     ,   ; ,T/te   Woman  who  Dared. 

For  measured  verse?     Why   leave    the   garden 

flowers 

To  fix  the  eye  on  one  poor  violet 
That  on  the  solitary  grove  sheds  fragrance  ? 
Themes  are  enough,  that  court  a  wide  regard, 
And  prompt  a  strenuous  flight ;  and  yet  from  all, 
My  thoughts  come  back  to  Linda.    Let  me  spare, 
As  best  I  may,  her  modest  privacy, 
While  under  Fancy's  not  inapt  disguise 
I  give  substantial  truth,  and  deal  with  no 
Unreal  beings  or  fantastic  facts  : 
Bear  witness  to  it,  Linda  ! 

Now  while  May 

Keeps  me  a  restive  prisoner  in  the  house, 
For  the  first  time  the  Spring's  unkindness  ever 
Held  me  aloof  from  her  companionship, 
However  roughly  from  the  east  her  breath 
Came  as  if  all  the  icebergs  of  Grand  Bank 
Were  giving  up  their  forms  in  that  one  gust,  — 


Overture.  3 

Now  while  on  orchard-trees  the  struggling  blos 
soms 

Break  from  the  varnished  cerements,  and  in  clouds 
Of  pink  and  white  float  round  the  boughs  that  hold 
Their  verdure  yet  in  check, — and  while  the  lawn 
Lures  from  yon  hemlock  hedge  the  robin,  plump 
And  copper-breasted,  and  the  west  wind  brings 
Mildness  and  balm,  —  let  me  attempt  the  task 
That  also  is  a  pastime. 

What  though  Spring 

Brings  not  of  Youth  the  wonder  and  the  zest ; 
The  hopes,  the  day-dreams,  and  the  exultations  ? 
The  animal  life  whose  overflow  and  waste 
Would  far  out-measure  now  our  little  hoard  ? 
The  health  that  made  mere  physical  existence 
An  ample  joy  ;  that  on  the  ocean  beach 
Shared  with  the  leaping  waves  their  breezy  glee ; 
That  in  deep  woods,  or  in  forsaken  clearings, 
Where  the  charred  logs  were  hid  by  verdure  new, 


4  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

And  the  shy  wood-thrush  lighted  ;  or  on  hills 
Whence    counties     lay    outspread    beneath    our 

gaze  ; 

Or  by  some  rock-girt  lake  where  sandy  margins 
Sloped  to  the  mirrored  tints  of  waving  trees,  — 
Could  feel  no  burden  in  the  grasshopper, 
And  no  unrest  in  the  long  summer  day  ? 
Would  I  esteem  Youth's  fervors  fair  return 
For  temperate  airs  that  fan  sublimer  heights 
Than   Youth   could   scale;    heights  whence   the 

patient  vision 

May  see  this  life's  harsh  inequalities, 
Its  rudimental  good  and  full-blown  evil, 
Its  crimes  and  earthquakes  and  insanities, 
And  all  the  wrongs    and   sorrows   that   perplex 

us, 

Assume,  beneath  the  eternal  calm,  the  order 
Which  can  come  only  from  a  Love  Divine  ? 
A  love  that  sees  the  good  beyond  the  evil, 
The  serial  life  beyond  the  eclipsing  death,  — 


Overture.  5 

That  tracks  the  spirit  through  eternities, 

Backward  and  forward,  and  in  every  germ 

Beholds  its  past,  its  present,  and  its  future, 

At  every  stage  beholds  it  gravitate 

Where  it  belongs,  and  thence  new-born  emerge 

Into  new  life  and  opportunity, 

An  outcast  never  from  the  assiduous  Mercy, 

Providing  for  His  teeming  universe, 

Divinely  perfect  not  because  complete, 

But  because  incomplete,  advancing  ever 

Beneath   the   care   Supreme?  —  heights   whence 

the  soul, 

Uplifted  from  all  speculative  fog, 
All  darkening  doctrine,  all  confusing  fear, 
Can  see  the  drifted  plants,  can  scent  the  odors, 
That  surely  come  from  that  celestial  shore 
To  which  we  tend  ;  however  out  of  reckoning, 
Swept    wrong    by    Error's    currents,     Passion's 

storms, 
The  poor  tossed  bark  may  be  ? 


6  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Descend,  my  thoughts ! 

Your  theme  lies  lowly  as  the  ground-bird's  nest ; 
Why  seek,  with  wings  so  feeble  and  unused, 
To  soar  ^above  the  clouds  and  front  the  stars  ? 
Descend  from  your  high  venture,  and  to  scenes 
Of  the  heart's  common  history  come  down  ! 


II. 

THE    FATHER'S    STORY. 

/T^HE  little  mansion  had  its  fill  of  sunshine ; 
The     western     windows     overlooked     the 

Hudson 

Where  the  great  city's  traffic  vexed  the  tide  ; 
The  front  received  the  Orient's  early  flush. 
Here  dwelt  three  beings,  who  the  neighbors  said 
Were  husband,  wife,  and  daughter  ;  and  indeed 
There  was  no  sign  that  they  were  otherwise. 
Their  name  was  Percival ;  they  lived  secluded, 
Saw  no  society,  except  some  poor 


8  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Old  pensioner  who  came  for  food  or  help  ; 

Though,  when  fair  days  invited,  they  would  take 

The  omnibus  and  go  to  see  the  paintings 

At  the  Academy  ;  or  hear  the  music 

At  opera  or  concert ;  then,  in  summer, 

A  visit  to  the  seaside  or  the  hills 

Would  oft  entice  them. 

Percival  had  reached 

His  threescore  years  and  five,  but  stood  erect 
As  if  no  touch  of  age  had  chilled  him  yet. 
Simple  in  habit,  studious  how  to  live 
In  best  conformity  with  laws  divine,  — 
Impulsive,  yet  by  trial  taught  to  question 
All  impulses,  affections,  appetites, 
At  Reason's  bar,  —  two  objects  paramount 
Seemed  steadily  before  him  ;  one,  to  find 
The  eternal  truth,  showing  the  constant  right 
In  politics,  in  social  life,  in  morals,  — 
The  other,  to  apply  all  love  and  wisdom 
To  education  of  his  child  —  of  Linda. 


The  Fathers  Story.  c 

Yet,  if  with  eye  anointed,  you  could  look 
On  that  benign  and  tranquil  countenance, 
You  might  detect  the  lines  which  Passion  leaves 
Long  after  its  volcano  is  extinct 
And  flowers  conceal  its  lava.     Percival 
Was  older  than  his  consort,  twenty  years ; 
Yet  were  they  fitly  mated ;  though,  with  her, 
Time  had  dealt  very  gently,  leaving  face 
And  rounded  form  still  youthful,  and  unmarred 
By  one  uncomely  outline  ;  hardly  mingling 
A  thread  of  silver  in  her  chestnut  hair 
That  affluent  needed  no  deceiving  braid. 
Framed  for  maternity  the  matron  seemed : 
Thrice  had  she  been  a  mother ;  but  the  children, 
The  first  six  winters  of  her  union  brought, 
A  boy  and  girl,  were  lost  to  her  at  once 
By  a  wall's  falling  on  them,  as  they  went, 
Heedless  of  danger,  hand  in  hand,  to  school. 
To  either  parent  terrible  the  blow ! 
But,  three  years  afterward,  when  Linda  came, 
i* 


io  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

With  her  dark  azure  eyes  and  golden  hair, 

It  was  as  if  a  healing  angel  touched 

The  parents'  wound,  and  turned  their  desolation 

Into  a  present  paradise,  revealing 

Two  dear  ones,  beckoning  from  the  spirit-land, 

And  one,  detaining  them,  with  infant  grasp, 

Feeble,  yet  how  resistless  !  here  below. 

And  so  there  was  great  comfort  in  that  house 
hold: 

And  those  unwhispered  longings  both  had  felt 
At  times,  that  they  might  pass  to  other  scenes 
Where  Love  would  find  its  own,  were  felt  no 

more :  « 

For  Linda  grew  in  beauty  every  day ; 
Beauty  not  only  of  the  outward  mould, 
Sparkling  in  those  dear  eyes,  and  on  the  wind 
Tossing  those  locks  of  gold,  but  beauty  born, 
In  revelations  flitting  o'er  the  face, 
From  the  soul's  inner  symmetry  ;  from  love 


The  Father's  Story.  " 

Too  deep  and  pure  to  utter,  had  she  words ; 
From  the  divine  desire  to  know ;  to  prove 
All  objects  brought  within  her  dawning  ken  ; 
From  frolic  mirth,  not  heedless  but  most  apt ; 
From  sense  of  conscience,  shown  in  little  things 
So  early  ;  and  from  infant  courtesy 
Charming  and  debonair. 

The  parents  said, 
While   the   glad  tears  shone  brimming  in  their 

eyes, 

"  Oh  !  lacking  love  and  best  experience 
Are  those  who  tell  us  that  the  purity 
And  innocence  of  childhood  are  delusion  ; 
Or  that,  so  far  as  they  exist,  they  show 
The  absence  of  all  mind  ;  no  impulses 
Save  those  of  selfish  passion  moving  it ! 
And  that,  by  nature  desperately  wicked,1 
The  child  learns  good  through  evil ;  having  no 
Innate  ideas,  no  inborn  will,  no  bias. 
Here,  in  this  infant,  is  our  confutation  ! 


12  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

O  self-sufficing  physiologist, 

Who,  grubbing  in  the  earth,  hast  missed  the  stars, 

We  ask  no  other  answer  to  thy  creed 

Than  this,  the  answer  heaven  and  earth  supply 

Now  sixteen  summers  had  our  Linda  seen, 
And  grown  to  be  a  fair-haired,  winsome  maid, 
In  shape  and  aspect  promising  to  be 
A  softened  repetition  of  her  mother  ; 
And  yet  some  traits  from  the  paternal  side 
Gave  to  the  head  an  intellectual  grace 
And  to  the  liquid  eyes  a  power  reserved, 
Brooding  awhile  in  tender  gloom,  and  then 
Flashing  emotion,  as  some  lofty  thought, 
Some  sight  of  pity,  or  some  generous  deed, 
Kindled  a  ready  sympathy  whose  tears 
Fell  on  no  barren  purpose ;  for  with  Linda 
To  feel,  to  be  uplifted,  was  to  act ; 
Her  sorest  trials  being  when  she  found 
How  far  the  wish  to  do  outran  the  power. 


The  Fathers  Story.  13 

Often  would  Percival  observe  his  child, 

And  study  to  divine  if  in  the  future 

Of  that  organization,  when  mature, 

There  should  prevail  the  elements  that  lead 

Woman  to  find  the  crowning  charm  of  life 

In  the  affections  of  a  happy  marriage, 

Or  if  with  satisfactions  of  the  mind 

And  the  aesthetic  faculty,  the  aims 

Of  art  and  letters,  the  pursuits  of  trade, 

Linda  might  find  the  fresh  activities 

He  craved  for  her,  and  which  forecasting  care 

Might  possibly  provide. 

His  means  were  small, 
Merged  in  a  life-annuity  which  gave 
All  that  he  held  as  indispensable 
To  sanative  conditions  in  a  home  : 
Good  air,  good  influences,  proper  food. 
By  making  his  old  wardrobe  do  long  service 
He  saved  the  wherewith  to  get  faithful  help 
From  the  best  teachers  in  instructing  Linda ; 


14  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

And  she  was  still  the  object  uppermost. 
Dawned  the  day  fair,  for  Linda  it  was  fair, 
And  they  all  three  could  ramble  in  the  Park. 
If  on  Broadway  the  ripe  fruit  tempted  him, 
Linda  was  fond  of  fruit ;  those  grapes  will  do 
For  Linda.     Was  the  music  rich  and  rare  ? 
Linda  must  hear  it.     Were  the  paintings  grand  ? 
Linda  must  see  them.     So  the  important  thought 
Was  always  Linda  ;  and  the  mother  shared 
In  all  this  fond  parental  providence  ; 
For  in  her  tender  pride  in  the  dear  girl 
There  was  no  room  for  any  selfish  thought, 
For  any  jealous  balancing  of  dues. 

"  My  child,"  said  Percival,  one  summer  day, 
As  he  brought  in  a  bunch  of  snow-white  roses, 
Ringed  with  carnations,  many-leafed  and  fragrant, 
"  Take  it,  an  offering  for  your  birthday  ;  this 
Is  June  the  twelfth,  a  happy  day  for  me." 
"  How  fresh,  how  beautiful !  "  said  Linda  rising 


The  Fathers  Story.  15 

And    kissing    him    on    either    cheek.       "  Dear 

father, 

You  spoil  me  for  all  other  care,  I  fear, 
Since  none  can  be  like  yours." 

"Why  speak  of  that?" 

He  with  a  start  exclaimed  ;  "  my  care  must  be 
Prolonged  till  I  can  see  you  safely  fixed 
In  an  assured  and  happy  womanhood. 
Why  should  it  not  be  so  ?     Though  sixty-five, 
How  well  am  I,  and  strong  !     No,  Linda,  no  ; 
Dream  not  of  other  tendance  yet  awhile  ; 
My  father  lived  to  eighty,  and  his  father 
To  eighty-five  ;  and  I  am  stronger  now 
Than  they  were,  at  my  age." 

"  Live  long  ! "  cried  Linda, 
"For  whom  have  I  to  love  me,  to  befriend, 
You  and  my  mother  gone  ? " 

"  Your  mother,  child  ? 

She  should  outlive  me  by  some  twenty  years 
At  least.     God  grant,  her  sweet  companionship 


1 6  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

May  be  your  strength  and  light  when  I  'm  not 

here, 
My  matchless  little  girl,  my  precious  Linda  ! " 

"  Ah  !  how  Love  magnifies  the  thing  it  loves  ! " 
Smiling  she  said  :  "  when  I  look  in  the  glass, 
I  see  a  comely  Miss  ;  nay,  perhaps  pretty  ; 
That  epithet  is  her  superlative, 
So  far  as  person  is  concerned,  I  fear. 
Grant  her  a  cheerful  temper  ;  that  she  gets 
From  both  her  parents.     She  is  dutiful,  — 
No  wonder,  for  she  never  is  opposed  ! 
Strangely  coincident  her  way  is  yours  ; 
Industrious,  but  that 's  her  mother's  training. 
Then  if  you  come  to  gifts  of  mind  —  ah  me ! 
What  can  she  show  ?     We  '11  not  pronounce  her 

dull; 

But  she  's  not  apt  or  quick  ;  and  all  she  gets 
Is  by  hard  work,  by  oft-repeated  trials, 
Trials  with  intermissions  of  despair. 


The  Fathers  Story.  17 

The  languages  she  takes  to  not  unkindly  ; 

But  mathematics  is  her  scourge,  her  kill-joy, 

Pressing  her  like  a  nightmare.     Logic,  too, 

Distresses  and  confuses  her  poor  brain  ; 

Oh  !  ask  her  not  for  reasons.     As  for  music  — 

Music  she  loves.     Would  that  Love  might  inspire 

The  genius  it  reveres  so  ardently  ! 

Has  she  no  gift  for  painting  ?     Eye  for  form 

And  coloring  I  truly  think  she  has  ; 

And  one  thing  she  can  do,  and  do  it  well ; 

She   can   group   flowers    and  ferns  and  autumn 

leaves, 

Paint  their  true  tints,  and  render  back  to  nature 
A  not  unfaithful  copy. 

"  This  the  extent 

Of  her  achievements !     She  has  labored  hard 
To  mould  a  bust  or  statue  ;  but  the  clay 
Lacked  the  Pygmalion  touch  beneath  her  hands. 
She  '11  never  be  a  female  Angelo. 
She  must  come  down  content  to  mother  Earth, 


1 8  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

And  study  out  the  alphabet  which  Summer 

Weaves  on  the  sod  in  fields  or  bordering  woods. 

Such  is  your  paragon,  my  simple  father ! 

But  now,  this  ordinary  little  girl, 

So  seeming  frank,  (whisper  it  low  !)  is  yet 

So  deep,  so  crafty,  and  so  full  of  wiles, 

That  she  has  quite  persuaded  both  her  parents  — 

In  most  things  sensible,  clear-seeing  people  — 

That  she  is  just  a  prodigy  indeed ! 

Not  one  of  goodness  merely,  but  of  wit, 

Capacity,  and  general  cleverness  !  " 

"There,  that  will  do,   spoilt   darling!     What  a 

tongue !" 

Percival  said,  admiring  while  he  chided. 
"  O  the  swift  time !     Thou  'rt  seventeen  to-day  ; 
And  yet,  except  thy  parents  and  thy  teachers, 
Friends  and  companions  thou  hast  hardly  known. 
'T  is  fit  that  I  should  tell  thee  why  our  life 
Has  been  thus  socially  estranged  and  quiet. 


The  Fathers  Story.  19 

Sit  down,  and  let  me  push  the  arm-chair  up 
Where  I  can  note  the  changes  in  thy  face  ; 
For  't  is  a  traitor,  that  sweet  face  of  thine, 
And  has  a  sign  for  every  fleeting  thought. 

"  But  here  's  our  little  mother  !     Come,  my  dear, 

And  take  a  seat  by  Linda  ;  thou  didst  help  me 

To  graft  upon  the  bitter  past  a  fruit 

All  sweetness,  and  thy  very  presence  now 

Can  take  the  sting  from  a  too  sad  remembrance." 

The  mother  placed  her  hand  upon  his  brow 
And  said  :  "  The  water-lily  springs  from  mud  ; 
So  springs  the  future  from  the  past."     Then  he : 
"  My  father's  death  made  me,  at  twenty -one, 
Heir  to  a  fortune  which  in  those  slow  days 
Was  thought  sufficient :  I  had  quitted  Yale 
With  some  slight  reputation  as  a  scholar, 
And,  in  the  first  flush  of  ingenuous  youth 
When  brave  imagination's  rosy  hue 


20  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Tinges  all  unknown  objects,  I  was  launched 
Into  society  in  this  great  place ;  — 
Sisterless,  motherless,  and  having  seen 
But  little,  in  my  student  life,  of  women. 

"  All  matrons  who  had  marriageable  girls 
Looked  on  me  as  their  proper  prey,  and  spread 
Their  nets  to  catch  me ;  and,  poor,  verdant  youth, 
Soon  I  was  caught,  —  caught  in  a  snare  indeed, 
Though  by  no  mother's  clever  management. 
Young,  beautiful,  accomplished,  she,  my  Fate, 
Met  me  with  smiles,  and  doomed  me  while  she 

smiled 

Nimble  as  light,  fluent  as  molten  lead 
To  take  the  offered  mould, . —  apt  to  affect 
Each  preference  of  taste  or  sentiment 
That  best  might  flatter,  —  affable  and  kind, 
Or  seeming  so,  —  and  generous  to  a  fault,  — 
But  that  was  when  she  had  a  part  to  play,  — 
Affectionate  —  ah  !  there  too  she  was  feigning  — 


The  Fathers  Story.  21 

As  I  look  calmly  back,  to  me  she  seems 
The  simple  incarnation  of  a  mind 
Possessed  of  all  the  secrets  of  the  heart, 
And  quick  to  substitute  a  counterfeit 
For  the  heart's  genuine  coin,  and  make  it  pass  ; 
But  void  of  feeling  as  the  knife  that  wounds ! 
And  so  the  game  was  in  her  hands,  and  she 
Played  it  with  confident,  remorseless  skill 
Even  to  the  bitter  end. 

"  Yet  do  not  think 

The  inner  prescience  never  stirred  or  spoke  : 
Veiled    though    it    be    from     consciousness     so 

strangely, 

And  its  fine  voice  unheard  amid  the  din 
Of  outward  things,  the  quest  of  earthly  passion, 
There  is  an  under-sense,  a  faculty 
All  independent  of  our  mortal  organs, 
And  circumscribed  by  neither  space  nor  time. 
Else    whence    proceed    they,   those    clairvoyant 

glimpses, 


22  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

That  vision  piercing  to  the  distant  future, 

Those  quick  monitions  of  impending  ruin, 

If  not  from  depths  of  soul  which  consciousness, 

Limited  as  it  is  in  mortal  scope, 

May  not  explore  ?     Yet  there  serenely  latent, 

Or  with  a  conscious  being  all  their  own, 

Superior  and  apart  from  what  we  know 

In  this  close  keep  we  call  our  waking  state, 

Lie  growing  with  our  growth  the  lofty  powers 

We  reck  not  of ;  which  some  may  live  a  life 

And  never  heed,  nor  know  they  have  a  soul ; 

Which  many  a  plodding  anthropologist, 

Philosopher,  logician,  scientist, 

Ignore  as  moonshine ;  but  which  are,  no  less, 

Actual,  proven,  and,  in  their  dignity 

And  grasp  and  space-defying  attributes, 

Worthy  to  qualify  a  deathless  spirit 

To  have  the  range  of  an  infinity 

Through  an  unending  period  —  at  once 

A  promise  and  a  proof  of  life  immortal. 


The  Fathers  Story.  23 

«  One  night,  one  mild,  sweet  night  in  early  June, 
We  two  had  paced  the  drawing-room  together 
Till  ten  o'clock,  and  then  I  took  my  leave 
And  walked  along  the  street,  a  square  or  more, 
When  suddenly  I  looked  up  at  a  star, 
And  then,  a  thought  I  could  not  fail  to  heed, 
From  the  soul's  awful  region  unexplored, 
Rushed,  crying,  '  Back  !     Go  back  ! '     And  back 

I  went, 

As  hastily  as  if  it  were  a  thing 
Of  life  or  death.     I  did  not  stop  to  pull 
The  door-bell,  but  sprang  up  alert  and  still 
To  the  piazza  of  the  open  window, 
Drew  back  a  blind  inaudibly,  looked  in, 
And  through  the  waving  muslin  curtain,  saw  — 
Well,  she  was  seated  in  a  young  man's  lap, 
Her  head  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Quick  of  ear 

As  the  chased  hare,  she  heard  me ;  started  up, 
Ran  to  the  curtain,  eagerly  drew  me  in, 


24  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

And  said,  while  joy  beamed  tender  in  her  eyes, 
'My  brother  Ambrose,  just  arrived  from  Europe!' 
So  swift  she  was,  she  did  not  give  me  time 
Even  for  one  jealous  pang.     I  took  his  hand, 
And  saying,  '  Anna's  brother  must  be  mine,' 
I  bade  them  both  good-night,  and  went  my  way : 
So  was  I  fooled,  —  my  better  angel  baffled  ! 

"  And  yet  once  more  the  vivid  warning  came, 
Flashed  like  quick  truth  from  her  own  eyes.     We 

stood 

Together  in  a  ball-room,  when  a  lady, 
To  me  unknown,  came  up,  regarded  me 
With  strange  compassion  in  her  curious  glance, 
And  then,  with  something  less  divine  than  pity, 
Looked  down  on  my  betrothed,  and  moved  away. 
I  turned  to  Anna,  but  upon  her  face, 
There  was  a  look  to  startle  like  a  ghost ; 
Defiance,  deadly  fear,  and  murderous  hate 
Were  all  so  wildly  blended  !     But 't  was  gone  — 


The  Fathers  Story.  25 

.Gone  like  a  flash  before  I  well  could  mark  it; 
And  in  its  place  there  came  a  luminous  smile, 
So  childlike  sweet,  such  type  of  heavenly  candor, 
It  would  have  served  for  a  Madonna's  mouth, 
To  make  the  pilgrim's  adoration  easy. 
'  Who  was  that  lady,  Anna  ? '  I  inquired. 
'  A  Mrs.  Lothian,'  was  her  reply : 
'  A  lovely  person,  although  somewhat  haughty/ 
We  returned  home  soon  after,  and  no  more 
Was  said  of  it. 

"  The  rapid  weeks  flew  by, 
And  Anna  plied  her  powers  to  charm,  but  still 
Not  all  the  subtle  glamour  of  her  presence 
Could  bind  in  sleep  my  pleading  monitor. 
And  so  at  last  I  said  :  '  We  both  are  young: 
Let  us,  as  earnest  of  a  mutual  wish 
To  share  a  perfect  love,  or  none  at  all, 
Absolve  each  other  here,  without  condition, 
From  this  engagement  ;  and,  if  three  years  hence 
We  both  are  of  one  heart,  then  shall  we  find 

2 


26  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

The  means  to  make  it  known  ;  of  that  be  sure  ! 
Are  you  in  your  own  loyalty  so  fixed 
As  to  accept  the  challenge  ?     Would  you  prize 
The  love  of  any  man,  who  could  not  bear 
A  test  so  simple  ? ' 

"  The  first  word  I  spoke 

Made  all  my  meaning  plain  to  her ;  she  shook, 
But  more  perhaps  with  anger  than  with  grief; 
She  turned  her  face  away,  and  covered  it 
With  both  her  hands,  and  so  remained  until 
I  had  done  speaking  ;  then  she  rose  at  once, 
Her  face  averted  still,  (she  durst  not  show  it !) 
And  grasped  my  hand,  and,  in  a  husky  tone 
Sheathing    her   wrath,    exclaimed :    '  To-morrow, 

come 
At  twelve  —  at  twelve ! '  and  rushed  out  of  the 

room. 

"  Prompt  at  the  hour  I  went ;  and  in  the  parlor 
Sat  down  expectant ;  and  she  entered  soon, 


The  Fathers  Story.  27 

Clad  all  in  white ;  upon  her  face  the  marks 

Of  passionate  tears,  and  a  beseeching  sorrow 

In  every  look !     A  desk  of  ivory, 

Borne  in  her  hands,  she  placed  upon  the  table ; 

I  rose  to  meet  her,  but  she  motioned  me 

To  keep  my  seat ;  then,  with  an  arm  thrown  over 

A  high-backed  chair,  as  if  to  keep  from  falling, 

(The  attitude  was  charming,  and  she  knew  it), 

She  said :  '  Take  back  the  little  desk  you  gave  me ; 

In  it  are  all  your  letters,  —  all  your  gifts. 

Take  them,  and  give  me  mine/ 

"  The  last  few  words 

Came  as  if  struggling  through  a  crowd  of  sobs. 
What  could  I  do  but  lead  her  to  the  sofa, 
Sit  by  her  side,  take  her  white  hand,  and  say : 
'  This  is  no  final  separation,  Anna ; 
It  is  a  trial  merely  of  our  loves  ? ' 

"  '  A  light  affair  perhaps  to  you/  she  said, 
'  But  death  to  me.     As  whim  or  pleasure  points, 


The  Woman  who  Dared. 

You  can  go  here,  go  there,  and  lead  the  life 
You  most  affect  ;  while  I,  the  home-kept  slave 
Of  others'  humors,  must  brave  poverty, 
Neglect  and  cruel  treatment.'  —  '  Did  you  say 
Poverty,  Anna  ? '  -  -  '  Do  not  breathe  a  word 
Of  what  I  tell  you  :  father  is  a  bankrupt, 
Or  soon  will  be  ;  and  we  shall  be  compelled 
To  quit  our  freestone  house,  and  breathe  the  air 
Of  squalid  want.     From  that  I  'd  not  recoil, 
Could  I  have  loving  looks  and  words  ;  for  what 
Is  poverty  if  there  's  but  love  to  gild  it  ? 
Ah  !  poverty  '  -  - '  Nay,  Anna,  poverty 
You  shall  not  know,  only  accept  from  me 
The  means  to  fix  you  in  becoming  plenty.' 
'  Never  ! '  she  cried  ;  '  ah  !  cruel  to  propose  it ! ' 
And  then  more  tears  ;  till,  touched  and  foiled,  I 

said, 

Looking  her  in  the  face  while  she  gazed  up 
In  mine  with  eager  tenderness,  —  '  Accept 
A  happy  home,  if  I  can  help  to  make  it. 
We  will  be  married,  Anna,  when  you  please.' 


The  Father  s  Story.  29 

"  And  so  she  had  her  way,  and  we  were  married  ; 
And  the  next  day  all  Wall  Street  was  aroused 
By  news  that  brave  Papa  had  won  renown 
Not  simply  as  a  bankrupt,  but  a  swindler, 
Escaping,  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth,  the  Tombs. 
'  No  matter !  Papa  has  a  son-in-law, 
A  greenhorn,  as  they  say,  who  occupies 
A  stately  house  on  the  Fifth  Avenue, 
And,  in  his  hall,  Papa  will  hang  his  hat.' 
And,  in  all  this,  Rumor  but  hit  the  truth. 

"  Six  months  rolled  by.     Repeatedly  I  asked, 

'  Where  's  Brother  Ambrose  ? '     He,  it  seems,  was 

held 

In  such  request  by  government,  that  rarely 
Could  he  be  spared  for  home  enjoyment ;  but 
At  length  I  did  encounter  Brother  Ambrose, 
And  once  again  I  found  him  — 

"  Well,  the  scales 
Dropped  from  my  eyes.     I  asked  no  other  proof 


3O  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Than  a  quick  look  I  saw  the  two  exchange,  — 
Forgetful  of  a  mirror  at  their  side,  — 
To  see  I  was  betrayed.     He  was  no  brother. 
I  sought  more  proof ;  but  they,  imagining 
I  knew  more  than  I  did,  were  swift  to  act. 
Before  I  could  find  steps  for  a  divorce 
She  stole  a  march  upon  me,  and  herself 
Took  the  initiative,  and  played  the  victim, 
Nipping  me  as  a  culprit  in  the  law. 

"  It  was  applet  so  dexterously  framed, 

All  the  precautions  and  contrivances 

Were  with  such  craft  foreplanned  ;  the  perjuries 

Were  all  so  well  adjusted ;  my  pure  life 

Was  made  to  seem  so  black  ;  the  witnesses 

Were  so  well  drilled,  so  perfect  in  their  parts,  — 

In  short,  it  was  a  work  of  art  so  thorough, 

I  did  not  marvel  at  the  Court's  decision, 

Which  was,  for  her,  —  divorce  and  alimony  ; 

For  me,  —  no  freedom,  since  no  privilege 

Of  marrying  again.     Such  the  decree  !  " 


The  Father's  Story.  31 

"  I  'm  glad  you  spurned  it  as   you   did ! "   cried 

Linda, 

While  her  cheeks  flushed,  and  hot,  indignant  tears, 
Responded  to  her  anger.     Then  she  kissed 
Her  father  on  each  cheek,  and  tenderly 
Embraced  her  mother  too  ;  and  they,  the  while, 
With  a  slight  moisture  in  their  smiling  eyes, 
Exchanged  a  nod.     Then  Percival  to  Linda : 
"  Why,  what  an  utter  rebel  you  would  be, 
You  little  champion  of  the  higher  law  ! 
Sit  down,  and  hear  me  out." 

"  If  such  their  justice," 
Cried  Linda,  irrepressible  and  panting, 
"  Who  would  not  spurn  it,  and  hurl  back  defiance 
To  all  the  Justice  Shallows  on  the  Bench  — 
To  them  and  their  decrees  ! " 

"  My  little  girl," 

The  father  said,  111  the  heart's  impulsive  choice 
May  guide  us  safely  when  the  act  must  be 
Born  of  the  instant,  but  let  Reason  rule 


32  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

When  Reason  may^    For  some  twelve  years,  I 

lived 

A  wandering  life  in  Europe  ;  not  so  crushed 
By  my  most  harsh  experience  but  I 
Could  find,  in  study  and  in  change  of  scene, 
How  much  of  relish  life  has  for  the  mind 
As  well  as  the  affections ;  still  I  felt 
Mine  was  a  nature  in  which  these  must  play 
No  secondary  part ;  and  so  the  void 
Enlarged  as  age  drew  nearer ;  and  at  forty 
A  weariness  of  life  came  over  me, 
And  I  was  sick  at  heart ;  for  many  a  joy 
Had  lost  the  charm  that  made  it  joy,     I  took 
A  house  in  London,  all  for  solitude, 
And  there  got  what  you  may  not  find  in  Egypt, 
Or  on  Mont  Blanc. 

"  One  day  as  I  was  crossing 
An  obscure  street,  I  saw  a  crowd  of  workmen 
Gathered  around  a  man  upon  the  ground  : 
A  rafter  from  a  half-built  house  had  fallen, 


The  Fathers  Story.  33 

And  he  was  badly  injured.     Seeing  none 
To  act  with  promptness  in  the  case,  I  hailed 
A  cab,  and  had  him  driven  to  my  house. 
Finding  he  was  a  fellow-countryman, 
I  gave  him  one  of  my  spare  rooms,  and  sent 
For  the  best  surgeon  near.     His  report  was, 
The  wound  itself  was  nothing  serious, 
But  there  was  over-action  of  the  brain, 
Quite  independent,  which  might  lead  to  danger, 
Unless  reduced  in  season  ;  and  the  patient 
Should  have  the  best  of  watching  and  attendance, 
And  not  be  left  to  brood  on  any  trouble, 
But  be  kept  cheerful.     Then  with  some  directions 
For  diet,  sedatives,  and  laxatives, 
The  doctor  bowed,  received  his  fee,  and  left. 
My  guest  lay  sad  and  silent  for  a  while, 
Then  turned  to  me  and  said :  '  My  name  is  Ken- 
rick  ; 

I  'm  from  Chicago  —  was  a  broker  there. 
A  month  ago  my  wife  eloped  from  me  ;- 

2*  C 


34  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

And  her  companion,  as  you  may  surmise, 

Was  one  I  had  befriended  —  raised  from  nothing. 

I  'm  here  upon  their  track." 

"  '  Why  so  ? '  I  asked. 
'  What  do  you  want  of  them  ? '  —  '  What  do  I 

want  ? ' 

He  stretched  his  eyes  at  me  inquiringly. 
1  How  strange/  said  I,  '  the  inconsistency  ! 
Here  's  a  true  man  would  try  to  overtake 
An  untrue  mate  !     If  she  's  not  sterling  gold 
And  loyal  as  the  loadstone,  — not  alone 
In  every  act,  but  every  thought  and  throb,  — 
Why  should  you  care  who  puts  her  to  the  proof, 
Takes  her  away,  and  leaves  you  free  again  ? 
Show  me  't  is  an  illusion  I  adore, 
And  I  will  thank  you,  though  it  be  in  anguish. 
To  no  false  gods  I  bow,  if  I  can  help  it ! ' 

"  '  Could  I/  said  Kenrick,  '  have  him  only  once 
Where  I  cpuld  take  him  by  the  throat,  and  meas 
ure 


The  Fathers  Story.  35 

My  strength  with   his!'  —  'Tut,   tut!   the  kind 

physician 

Who  warns  you  of  some  lurking  taint,  to  which 
The  cautery  should  be  applied  at  once, 
Is  not,  in  act,  if  not  intent,  your  friend 
More  certainly  than  he  you  rave  against. 
And  you  Ve  been  jealous,  I  suppose,  at  times, 
Of  the  poor  runaway  ? '  — '  Ay,  that  I  have  ! 
Bitterly  jealous.' 

(^ '  Jealousy  and  love 
Were  never  yet  true  mates  ;  for  jealousy 
Is  born  of  selfish  passion,  lust,  or  pride, 
While  love  is  so  divine  and  pure  a  thing, 
It  only  takes  what  cannot  be  withheld.) 
It  flies  constraint.     All  that  it  gives  is  given, 
Even  as  the  lily  renders  up  its  perfume, 
Because  it  cannot  help  it.     Would  it  crave 
Return  less  worthy  ?     Would  it  be  content 
With  a  grudged  gift  ?     Then  it  is  something  else, 
Not   love  —  not  love  !     Ah   me  !    how   men   and 

women 


36  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Cozen  themselves  with  words,  and  let  their  pas 
sions 

Fool  them  and  blind,  until  they  madly  hug 
Illusions  which  some  stunning  shock  like  yours 
Puts  to  the  proof,  revealing  emptiness. 
Have  you  a  loving  heart,  and  would  you  feed  it 
On  what  the   swine   have   left,  —  mock   it   with 

lies  ? ' 

'  Speak  this  to  me  again,  when  I  am  stronger/ 
Said  Kenrick,  smiling  faintly.     Then  I  left  him, 
And  taking  up  'The  Times'  looked  thro'  the  list 
Of  '  Wants '  ;  and  one  amid  the  many  hundred 
Instantly  caught  my  eye.     It  merely  said : 
'Wanted,  by  a  young  woman,  strong  and  healthy, 
A  place  as  nurse  for  any  invalid. 
Address  68 1,  Times  Office.'     So 
I  wrote  and  told  68 1  to  call 
Upon  me  at  a  certain  hour. 

"  And  now, 
My  dear,  this  little  girl  with  eager  eyes 


The  Fathers  Story.  37 

Has,  for  a  summer  morning,  heard  enough. 

The  weather  is  the  crown  of  all  that  June 

Has  of  most  fair,  —  the  year's  transcendent  day  ; 

When  the  young  foliage  and  the  perfect  air 

Intoxicate  the  birds,  and  put  our  hearts 

In  harmony  with  their  extravagance 

Of  joy  and  love.     Come,  come !     To  slight  this 

day 

Would  be  a  sin.     We  '11  ramble  in  the  Park, 
And  take  our  dinner  there,  and  see  the  flowers, 
The  children,  and  the  swans,  and  all  the  places 
Which  Linda  used  to  love  in  babyhood, 
When,  in  her  little  carriage,  like  a  queen 
She  'd  sit,  receiving  homage  from  all  eyes." 

The  father  had  his  way  ;  and  in  the  Park 
They  spent  the  happy  time,  and  felt  the  charm 
Which  harmony  complete  with  Nature  brings 
When  loving  spirits,  unpreoccupied, 
Gain  by  surrender,  and  grow  rich  by  giving. 


3 8  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

O  sunshine  and  blue  sky  and  genial  airs! 
To  human  happiness,  like  daily  bread, 
Your  blessings  come,  till  the  unthinking  heart 
Recks  not  the  debt  we  owe  your  silent  powers. 
If  ye  can  give  so  much,  what  may  not  He 
Of  whose  omnipotence  ye  are  but  shadows 
Have  in  reserve  in  his  eternities ! 


III. 

THE    MOTHER'S    STORY. 


'T'^HAT  evening,  when  the  feast  of  strawberries 

Had  been  partaken,  and  the  happy  three 
Sat  down  together,  Linda  asked  :  "  And  now, 
May  I  not  hear  the  rest  ?  "  —  "To-morrow,  Linda, 
You  shall  hear  all,"  said  Percival  ;  "  but  now, 
That  brain  of  yours  must  tranquillize  itself 
Before  you  try  to  sleep  ;  and  so,  to-night, 
Let  us  have  '  Annie  Laurie/  '  Bonnie  Doon,' 
And  songs  that  most  affront  the  dainty  ear 
Of  modern  fashion."     Linda  played  and  sang 


40  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

A  full  half-hour ;  then,  turning  on  her  chair, 
Said,  "  Now  shall  mother  sing  that  cradle  ditty 
You  made  for  me,  an  infant.     Mother,  mine, 
Imagine  you  are  rocking  me  to  sleep, 
As  in  those  far-off  days." 

Replied  the  mother  : 
"O    the    dear    days!    yet   not   more   dear   than 

these ! 

For  frugal  Linda  brings  along  with  her 
All  of  her  past ;  the  infant's  purity, 
The  child's  confiding  love,  and  now,  at  last, 
The  maiden's  free  and  quick  intelligence ! 
Be  ever  thus,  my  Linda  ;  for  the  pure 
In  heart  shall  carry  an  immortal  youth 

Into  the  great  to-come.     That  little  song 

Well  I  remember  the  delightful  time 
When  't  was  extemporized  ;  when,  with  my  pen, 
I  noted  down  the  words,  while,  by  your  crib, 
Your  father  sat,  and  you,  with  little  fists 
Drawn  tight,  would  spring  and  start,  as  infants 
will, 


The  Mothers  Story.  41 

Crowing  the  while,  and  chuckling  at  the  words 

Not  comprehended  yet,  save  in  the  smiles 

That   with   them   went !    'T  was   at   the   mellow 

close 

Of  an  autumnai  day,  and  we  were  staying 
In  a  secluded  village,  where  a  brook 
Babbled  beneath  our  window,  and  the  hum 
Of  insects  soothed  us,  while  a  louder  note 
From  the  hoarse  frog's  bassoon  would,  now  and 

then, 

Break  on  the  cricket's  sleepy  monotone 
And  startle  laughter."    Here  the  matron  paused ; 
Then  sweeping,  with  a  firm,  elastic  touch, 
The  ivory  keys,  sang 

LINDA'S   LULLABY. 

i. 

Murmur  low,  little  rivulet  flowing  ! 
For  to  sleep  our  dear  Linda  is  going  ; 
All  good  little  lambs  be  reposing, 
For  Linda  one  eyelid  is  closing. 


42  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

ii. 

O  frogs !  what  a  noise  you  are  making ! 
O  crickets  I  now  don't  keep  her  waking  ! 
Stop  barking,  you  little  dog  Rover, 
Till  Linda  can  get  half-seas  over. 

in. 

Little  birds,  let  our  word  of  love  reach  you,  — 
Go  to  bed,  go  to  sleep,  I  beseech  you ; 
On  her  little  white  coverlet  lying, 
To  sleep  our  dear  Linda  is  trying. 

IV. 

Hush  !  sing  just  as  softly  as  may  be  ; 
Sing  lullaby,  lullaby,  baby  ! 

Now  to  sleep  this  dear  Linda  is  going, 

Murmur  low,  little  rivulet  flowing ! 

The  next  day,  when  the  heat  kept  all  at  home, 
And  they  were  gathered  in  the  library, 
Where  fitfully  a  lazy  southern  breeze 
Would  stir  the  languid  curtains,  Percival 
Said,  turning  to  the  mother  :  "  Mary,  now 
Your  story  best  will  supplement  my  own  ; 


The  Mothers  Story.  43 

Tell  it."     She  answered  :  "Let  it  be  so,  then  ; 

My  life  is  but  the  affluent  to  yours, 

In  which  it  found  its  amplitude  and  rest. 

My  parents  dwelt  in  Liverpool ;  my  father, 
A  prosperous  merchant,  gave  to  business 
His  time  and  active  thoughts,  and  let  his  wife 
Rule  all  beside  with  rigor  absolute. 
My  maiden  name  was  Mary  Merivale. 
There  were  eight  daughters  of  us,  and  of  these 
I  was  the  fourth.     We  lived  in  liberal  style, 
And  did  not  lack  the  best  society 
The  city  could  afford.     My  heedful  mother, 
With  eight  undowered  girls  to  be  disposed  of, 
Fearfully  healthy  all,  and  clamorous 
For  clothes  and  rations,  entered  on  a  plan 
To  which  she  steadily  adhered  :  it  was, 
To  send  the  younger  fry  to  boarding-schools, 
And  keep  one  virgin  only,  at  a  time, 
And  she  the  oldest,  on  her  hands  to  marry. 


44  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

So  they  came  forward  in  their  order  :  Julia, 
And  Isabel,  and  Caroline ;  until 
I  was  dragged  forth  from  maps  and  lexicons, 
Slate-pencils  and  arithmetics,  and  put 
Candidate  Number  Four,  upon  the  list. 

"My  elder  sisters  had  been  all  <  well-married '; 
That  is,  to  parties  able  to  provide 
Establishments  that  Fashion  would  not  scorn  ; 
What  more  could  be  desired  by  loving  parents  ? 
As  for  resistance  to  her  will,  when  once 
She  set  her  heart  upon  a  match,  my  mother 
Would  no  more  bear  it  than  a  general 
Would  bear  demur  from  a  subordinate 
When  ordered  into  action.     If  a  daughter, 
When  her  chance  offered,  and  was   checked  as 

good, 

Presumed,  from  any  scruple  of  dislike, 
To  block  the  way  for  her  successor,  then 
Woe  to  that  daughter,  and  no  peace  for  her 


The  Mothers  Story.  45 

Did  she  not,  with  an  utter  selfishness, 
Stand  in  her  younger  sister's  light  ?  imperil 
The  poor  child's  welfare  ?  doom  her  possibly 
To  an  old  maid's  forlorn  and  cheerless  lot  ? 

"  And  so,  with  an  imperious  will,  my  mother 
Would  sweep  away  all  hindrances,  all  doubts. 
She  was,  besides,  the  slave  of  system  ;  having 
Adopted  once  the  plan  of  bringing  forward 
No  daughter  till  the  previous  one  was  mated, 
It  was  a  sacred  custom  ;  't  was  her  own  ! 
It  had  worked  well ;  must  not  be  broken  through. 
So  my  poor  sisters  went ;  and  some  of  them 
With  doubting  hearts. 

"  In  me,  my  zealous  mother 
Found  metal  not  so  malleable  quite. 
One  of  my  teachers  at  the  boarding-school, 
A  little  woman  who  got  scanty  pay 
For  teaching  us  in  French  and  German,  fed 
Her  lonely  heart  with  dreams  of  what,  some  day, 


46  The   Woman  .who  Dared. 

Shall  lift  her  sex  to  nobler  life.     She  took 

A    journal    called    'The    Good   Time    Coming/ 

filled 

With  pleadings  for  reform  of  many  kinds,  — 
In  education,  physical  and  mental, 
Marriage,  the  rights  of  women,  modes  of  living. 
Weekly  I  had  the  reading  of  it  all ; 
Some  of  it  crude  enough,  some  apt  and  just, 
Forcibly  put,  and  charged  with  vital  facts. 
At  last  these  had  for  me  a  fascination 
That  quite  eclipsed  the  novels  of  the  day. 

"  I  learnt,  that,  bound  up  in  the  moral  law, 
Are  laws  of  health  and  physical  control, 
Unheeded  in  the  family  and  school ; 
How  fashion,  stupid  pride,  and  love  of  show, 
The  greed  of  gain,  or  the  pursuit  of  pleasure, 
Empty  and  frivolous,  make  men  and  women 
False  to  their  natures,  cruel  to  each  other 
And  to  the  unborn  offspring  they  devote 


The  Mother  s  Story.  47 

To  misery  through  ill-assorted  unions, 
Or  habits  reckless  of  maternal  dues  ; 
How  marriage,  sacredest  of  mortal  steps, 
Is  entered  on  from  motives  all  unworthy ; 
Social  ambition,  mercenary  aims, 
The  dread  of  poverty,  of  singleness,  — 
The  object  of  uniting  families,  — 
And  momentary  passion  fatuous. 
So  I  resolved,  God  helping,  to  be  true 
To  my  own  self,  and  that  way  true  to  all. 

"  The  fete  that  signalized  my  coming  out 
Was,  so  my  mother  said,  the  costliest  yet. 
Whole  greenhouses  were  emptied  to  adorn 
Our  rooms  with  flowers ;  a  band  played  in  the 

hall; 

The  supper-table  flashed  with  plate  and  silver 
And  Dresden  ware  and  bright  Bohemian  glass  ; 
The  wines  and  viands  were  profuse  and  rare  ; 
And  everybody  said,  't  was  a  grand  ball. 


48  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

"  But  what  of  her,  for  whom  it  was  the  flourish 

Of  trumpets  blown  to  celebrate  her  entrance 

Into  society  ?     Let  others  speak  ! 

These  the  remarks  I  had  to  overhear: 

*  She  's  rather  pretty.'  — '  Pretty  is  the  word/ 

'  But  not  so  dashing  as  the  elder  sisters.' 

'  Cleverer  though,  perhaps/  —  'She  takes  it  coolly. 

Her  heart 's  not  in  the  ball ;  that 's  evident/ 

'  Where    is    it  ?     Is    she  bookish  ? '  — '  So    I  Ve 

heard/ 
' Unlike    the    rest,    then/  —  'That    straw-colored 

silk 
Should  have  had    flounces/  — '  Is  that  hair  her 

own  ? ' 

'  I  think  so  ? '  -- '  She  's  no  dancer/  —  '  Apathetic 
As  any  duchess/  — '  The  young  men  seem  shy  ; 
She  does  n't  put  them  at  their  ease,  't  is  plain/ 
'  See,  the  old  woman  chides  her  ;  she  deserves  it ; 
She  '11  not  pick  up  admirers  if  she  plays 
My  Lady  Cool  so  grandly.     Watch  mamma. 


The  Mothers  Story.  49 

ft 

The  hook  is  nicely  baited  ;  where  are  all 

The  gudgeons  it  should  lure  ?     I  marvel  not 

Mamma  is  in  a  fluster  ;  tap,  tap,  tap, 

See  her  fan  go  !     No  strategy,  no  effort, 

No  dandy-killing  shot  from  languid  eyes, 

On  that  girl's  part !     And  all  this  fuss  for  her  ! ' 

"  The  gossips,  in  these  random  whisperings, 
Made   some   good   shots,  that  failed  not  of  the 

mark. 

The  lights,  the  roses,  the  voluptuous  music, 
The  shining  robes,  the  jewels,  the  bright  faces 
Engrossed  me  not  so  much  as  one  pale  face, 
Youthful  but  pinched,  which  I  had  seen  a  mo 
ment, 

An  hour  before,  reflected  in  the  mirror 
At  which  I  stood  while  nimble  dressing-maids 
Helped  to  array  me.     A  poor  girl  had  brought 
The  bodice  of  my  silken  robe,  on  which 
She  had  been  working  closely  ;  and  my  mother 
3  D 


5°  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Chided  her  for  delay  ;  but  no  reply* 

Was  made,  save  only  what  the  pleading  eyes 

Could  not  withhold.     Then  tendering  a  scrap 

Of  paper,  record  of  her  paltry  charge, 

She  meekly  stood.     '  Pooh  !  bring   it   here   next 

week/ 

My  mother  said.     '  No  ! '  turning  round,  I  cried  ; 
'  Let  her  be  paid  at  once ;  there  must  be  money 
In  the  house  somewhere  ;  it  may  be  a  loss, 
An  inconvenience,  for  her  to  come  back 
Just  for  a  trifling  sum.'  —  '  Impertinent ! ' 
My  mother  kindling,  cried.      '  Do  you  rule  here  ? ' 
'  I  can  return/  timidly  said  the  girl. 
Then  a  gold  thimble  from  my  drawer  I  took, 
And  offered  it,  remarking,  '  Keep  or  sell  it, 
To  hold  you  good  for  all  your  wasted  time/ 
'  My  time,  —  what  is  it  worth  ? '  replied  the  girl, 
Motioning  her  refusal,  but  with  smiles 
Of  speechless  gratitude,  and  then  escaping 
Before  I  could  prevent  her. 


The  Mothers  Story.  5* 

" '  Novel-reading 

Has  brought  you  to  this  insipidity,' 
My  mother  said  :  '  such  sentimental  pap, 
You  never  got  from  me.     Come,  hurry  down  ; 
Put  off  that  sullen  look.     The  carriages 
Begin  to  roll  ;  the  guests  are  on  the  stairs. 
Learn  to  command  your  smiles,  my  dear.     Now 
go.' 

"  So  down  I  went,  but  in  no  conquering  mood. 
I  did  not  scrutinize  the  festive  dresses  ; 
Of  the  sad  hearts  I  thought,  the  poor  thin  hands 
That  put  of  life  somewhat  in  every  stitch 
For  a  grudged  pittance.     All  disguises  fell ; 
Voices  betrayed  the  speakers  in  their  tones, 
Despite  of  flattering  words  ;  and  smiles  revealed 
The  weariness  or  hatred  they  would  hide. 
And  so,  preoccupied  and  grave,  I  looked 
On  all  the  gayety  ;  and  reigning  belles 
Took  heart  to  find  in  me  no  coming  rival. 


52  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

"  Lent  now  was  near  ;  the  time  of  all  diversion 
And  visiting  was  over  ;  and  my  mother 
Summed  up  her  griefs  in  this  one  lamentation : 
'  The  season  gone,  and  not  one  offer  yet ! 
You,  Mary,  are  the  first  one  of  my  daughters 
Whose  coming-out  so  flat  a  failure  proved. 
Think  of  your  sister  Julia  ;  her  first  winter 
Brought    Hammersley  to  her  feet.      A  splendid 

match  ! 

First  cousin  to  a  lord  !     How  envious 
Were  all  the  dowagers  at  my  success ! 
If  I  Ve  not  done  all  that  a  mother  could, 
Tell  me  wherein  I  Ve  failed.     Yet  one  year  more 
I  shall  allow  you  for  your  trial.     Then, 
If  you  have  made  no  step  in  the  direction 
Of  matrimony,  why,  you  must  go  off 
To  Ireland,  to  America,  or  France, 
And  leave  the  field  for  your  next  younger 
For  Susan/  —  (  She  is  welcome  to  it  now,' 
I  said,  with  something  like  disdain,  I  fear, 


The  Mothers  Story.  53 

In  my  cold  smile.  —  *  My  plans  are  laid,  you  know,' 
Replied  my  mother  ;  '  find  your  duty  in 
A  simple  acquiescence  ;  I  know  best.' 

"  'T  is  said  the  woman  always  is  to  blame 

If  a  man  ventures  to  commit  himself 

In  a  proposal  unacceptable. 

The  rule  has  its  exceptions  ;  for  I  gave 

No  word,  no  inkling  of  encouragement 

To  Captain  Dudley  ;  yet  I  had  an  offer 

From  Captain  Dudley.     Young,  and  elegant, 

Though  of  a  stock  somewhat  attenuate  ; 

Rich,  though  a  younger  son ;  a  gentleman, 

A  scholar,  —  what  good  reason  could  I  give 

For  saying  Nay  to  such  an  applicant  ? 

'  Explain  ! '  my  mother  cried,  with  brow  severe  ; 

'  Is  not  his  character  without  a  flaw  ? ' 

'  So  far  as  known  to  me/  —  '  Is  he  a  fool  ? ' 

'  Far  from  it ;  culture  and  good  sense  are  his.' 

'  Could  you  not  love  him  ? '  — '  Very  tenderly, 


54  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Perhaps,  with  time  to  aid.'  —  '  Has  any  one 
Preoccupied  your  heart  ? '  —  '  My  heart  is  free, 
And  has  been   always   free.'  —  { Indeed  ?     Then 

why 

Refuse  to  be  the  wife  of  this  young  man  ? ' 
'  Simply  because  he  's  not  the  man  I  'd  choose 
To  be  the  father  of  a  child  of  mine.' 

"  If  I  had  put  a  pistol  at  her  head, 

My  lady  mother  would  not  so  have  started. 

'  What !  a  mere  girl  —  and  you  can  entertain 

Such  thoughts  !  so  selfish,  gross,  unmaidenly  ! ' 

'  If,'  I  replied,  '  I  'm  old  enough  to  dream 

Of  marriage,  as  you  bid  me,  then  't  is  time 

For  me  to  think  of  all  the  risk  I  run. 

Selfish,  you  call  it ;  gross,  unmaidenly  ; 

Is  it  unmaidenly  to  hesitate 

In  the  surrender  of  my  maiden  state  ? 

Your  epithets  belong  to  those  who  fail 

To  think  at  all,  or  only  think  of  this  : 


The  Mothers  Story.  55 

What  's  the  man's  income  ?     Will  he  let  me  have 
A  house  in  the  right  quarter  ?     Keep  a  carriage  ? 
And  is  he  in  society  ?     Such  women 
Plant  nightshade,  and  affect  to  wonder  why 
The  growth  is  not  of  lilies  and  carnations ! ' 

"'So!    just   let   loose   from   school/   replied   my 

mother, 

'  You  'd  teach  me  what  is  womanly  !     Pert  minx  ! 
Tell  me  in  simple  English  what  you  mean 
By  your  objections  to  this  match,  so  largely 
Above  your  merits  ? '  —  '  This  is  what  I  mean  : 
For  reasons  that  are  instincts  more  than  reasons, 
And  therefore  not  to  be  explained  to  those 
Who  in  them  do  not  share,  as  you  do  not, 
I  would  not  wed  this  man,  —  not  if  I  loved  him.' 
'  Enough  !     You  've  had  your  turn  ;  and  now  pre 
pare 

To  make  a  visit  to  your  father's  cousin 
In  Nova  Scotia  ;  there,  perhaps,  you  may 


56  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Find  a  congenial  mate  among  the  clowns 

And  roughs  provincial.    Go  and  pack  your  trunk. 

Fool  your  own  opportunities  away  ; 

You  shall  not  thrust  your  sister  out  of  hers/ 

"  I  did  not  pack  my  trunk  ;  another  suitor, 
One  twice  as  rich  as  Dudley,  kindled  hopes 
Anew  in  my  poor  mother's  breast ;  and  so 
Susan  was  kept  at  school  another  season, 
And  I  was  put  upon  the  course  once  more, 
My  training  perfect  and  my  harness  new ! 

"  Who  could  object  to  Arthur  Pennington  ? 
Son  of  a  wealthy  manufacturer, 
A  type  he  was  of  English  adolescence, 
Trained  by  harmonious  culture  to  the  fulness 
Of  all  that  Nature  had  supplied  ;  a  person 
That  did  not  lack  one  manly  grace  ;  a  mind 
Which  took  the  mould  that  social  pressure  gave, 
Without  one  protest  native  to  itself. 


The  Mothers  Story.  57 

In  the  accepted,  the  conventional, 

He  looked  for  Truth,  nor  ever  had  a  doubt 

Whether  she  might  not  hide  in  some  deep  well 

Rather  than  flaunt  her  modest  purity 

In  dusty  highways.     With  my  disposition 

To  challenge  all  that  human  dogmatism 

Imperious  would  impose  upon  my  thought, 

What  pretty  yoke -fellows  for  life  should  we, 

Arthur  and  I,  have  been  !     Misled  by  hopes 

Which  were  inspired  too  fondly  by  my  mother, 

He,  too,  proposed,  and  was  of  course  rejected. 

"Then  the  storm  broke  !     The  cup  of  my  offences 
Was  overflowed  at  last.     Now  must  I  go  — 
Go,  where  she  cared  not ;  only  disappear 
From  her  domain  ;  she  washed  her  hands  of  me  ! 
Hundreds  of  pounds  had  been  invested  in  me,  — 
My  dresses,  jewelry,  and  entertainments,  — 
And  here  was  the  result !     But  no  more  money, 
From  her,  must  I  expect ;  my  father's  income 
3* 


5  8  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Had  not  for  years  been  equal  to  his  outlays. 
Any  day  he  might  be  compelled  to  change 
His  style  of  living  ;  all  had  been  kept  up 
For  the  advantage  of  myself  and  sisters  ; 
And  here  was  all  the  gratitude  I  showed ! 

"  This  time  my  mother  was  in  earnest ;  so 
Now  must  I  lay  my  plans  to  go  at  once. 
Whither  ?  to  seek  a  transient  home  with  one 
Of  my  own  married  sisters  ?     Ah  !  the  thought 
Of  being  dependent  galled  me  like  a  spur. 
No  !  go  to  work,  —  a  voice  within  me  said  : 
Think  of  the  many  thousands  of  your  sex 
Who,  young  and  giddy,  not  equipped  like  you, 
Are  thrown  upon  the  world  to  battle  with  it 
As  best  they  may  !     Now  try  your  closet  virtue  ; 
See  if  your  theory  can  stand  the  proof,  — 
If  trial  will  not  warp  your  sense  of  right. 
When  Poverty  shall  dog  your  every  step, 
And  at  your  scanty  or  unwholesome  meal 


The  Mother  s  Story.  59 

Sit  down,  or  with  you,  in  your  thin  attire, 
Go  shivering  home  at  night  from  ill-paid  toil,  — 
Then  see  if  you  can  keep  your  feet  from  straying  ; 
Then  choose  as  only  Conscience  bids  you  choose  ! 

"  The  sewing-girl  who  worked  upon  my  dress, 
The  day  of  the  great  ball,  was  Lucy  Merle  ; 
I  found  her  saving  up  her  petty  means 
To  go  to  London,  to  get  better  wages,  — 
And  said  :  '  Well,  Lucy,  let  us  go  together.' 
She  sold  some  jewels  for  me,  and  we  went. 

"  In  London  !  two  unfriended  girls  in  London  ! 
We  hired  a  room,  and  got  employment  soon, 
Such  as  it  was  ;  but  small  the  recompense ! 
Though  Lucy,  quicker  at  her  work  than  I, 
Could  earn  enough  to  live  upon  —  almost. 
For  her  the  change  was  slight. 

"  A  year  we  toiled 
In  company  ;  and  I  '11  not  tell  you  all 


60  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

The  hardships,  trials,  wrongs,  we  underwent. 

In  my  blue  trunk  you  '11  find  a  little  pistol, 

Got  for  our  joint  protection  in  those  days. 

May  it  be  near  you,  should  you  ever  need  it ! 

Finding,  at  length,  I  could  no  longer  earn 

My  share  of  our  expenses  by  the  needle, 

I  sought  a  situation  as  a  nurse. 

And  in  'The  Times'  I  advertised  my  'Want/ 

An  answer  came,  directing  me  to  call 

Upon  the  writer  at  a  certain  hour. 

I  went.     I  met  a  man  of  middle  age 

Whose  name  was  Percival.    I  thought  his  manner 

Was  coldly  kind. 

"  '  You  're  very  young/  he  said, 
*  To  fill  the  situation  of  a  nurse. 
What    reference    have    you  ? '      Not    a    distant 

thought 

Of  such  a  need  had  ever  troubled  me ! 
'  I  bring/  said  I,  '  no  reference/  —  '  That 's  a  pity. 
What  pledge  have  I  of  character  ? '  -  —  '  Not  any/ 


The  Mothers  Story.  61 

And  then,  impatient  at  this  let,  I  cried : 
'  Look  in  my  face,  and  if  you  find  not  there 
Pledge  of  my  truth,  Heaven  help  me,  for  't  is  all  — 
All  I  can  give  ! '  — '  Ah  !  my  poor  child,'  said  he, 
'  Such  warrant  have  I  learnt  to  take  with  doubt ; 
For  I  have  known  a  face,  too  beautiful, 
With  look  of  innocence  and  shining  candor, 
Prove  but  the  ambush  of  duplicity, 
Pitiless  and  impure.     But  let  me  not 
Distrust  too  far.'     Then  he  turned  up  the  gas, 
And,  with  a  scrutiny  intent  and  grave, 
Perused  my  face.     "  What  is  your   name  ? '    he 

asked, 

After  a  silence.  —  '  Mary  Merivale.' 
'  Well,  Mary,  I  engage  you  ;  come  at  once. 
In  the  next  room  asleep  reclines  our  patient. 
As  for  your  wages,  we  will  say  two  guineas 
A  week,  if  you  're  content.'  —  '  O,  perfectly  ! ' 

"  So,  groping  in  my  darkness,  I  at  length 


62  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Hit  on  the  door  that  issued  into  light. 

Long  talks  between  the  patient  and  his  friend 

Were  frequent,  and  they  heeded  not  my  presence. 

Little  by  little  Percival  soon  told 

The  story  that  you  Ve  heard,  and  more  which  you 

May  never  hear  in  earthly  interviews. 

An  eager  listener,  I  would  treasure  up 

Each  word,  each  look  ;  and  on  my  soul  at  last 

Dawned  the  pure  ray  by  which  I  saw  those  traits, 

The  spirit's  own,  that  harmonized  so  well 

With  all  the  outward  showed  of  good  and  noble. 

Strange  that  he  took  no  notice  of  the  way 

My  very  life  was  drifting !     But  to  him 

I  seemed  a  child,  and  his  paternal  airs 

Froze  me  and  checked. 

"  A  paragraph,  <  The  Times ' 
Had  published,  when  the  accident  took  place, 
Mentioned  that  Kenrick  was  a  millionnaire, 
Though  quite  a  young  man  still. 

"  A  month  went  by 


The  Mothers  Story.  63 

And  he  was  able  to  sit  up  awhile  ; 

And  soon,  with  me  beside  him  in  the  carriage, 

To  take  a  drive  ;  —  when  one  day,  Percival 

Said  to  me :  '  Mary,  you  and  I  must  try 

The  span  to-day  ;  our  patient  shall  keep  house.' 

My  heart  beat  wildly  ;  Kenrick  looked  as  if 

Approving  the  arrangement ;  so  we  went. 

1 1  wished/  said  Percival,  '  to  talk  with  you 

In  private  ;  do  not  answer  if  I  put 

Questions  that  may  embarrass  or  annoy  ; 

It  is  no  idle  curiosity, 

Prompting  me  now.     We  see  that  you  were  born 

To  something  better  than  this  drudgery  : 

If  not  reluctant,  tell  me  who  you  are.' 

'  O,  willingly  ! '  I  said. 

"  And  so  I  told  him 

All,  from  the  first.     He  heard  me  patiently  ; 

And  then  remarked  :  '  But  do  you  never  long 
For  that  secure  and  easy  life  at  home  ? 
You  will  go  back  to  Liverpool,  perchance, 


64  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

When  you  Ve  had  quite  enough  of  servitude 

And  toil  precarious.'  —  '  I  go  not  back/ 

Said  I,  '  while  health  and  liberty  are  left. 

The  home  that 's  grudged  is  not  the  home  for  me. 

Give  me  but  love,  and  like  the  reed  I  yield ; 

Deal  with  me  harshly,  you  may  break,  not  bend 

me.' 
( Ah !    there   is   something   wrong    in   all   these 

things/ 
Replied  he,  musing. 

"  '  Yes/  I  said  ;  *  consider 
What  I  Ve  been  telling  of  my  mother's  way 
Of  marrying  her  daughters  ;  well,  my  mother 
Is  but  the  product  of  that  social  system, 
Hollow  and  false,  which  leaves  for  dowerless  girls 
Few  honorable  outlooks  for  support 
Excepting  marriage.     Poor,  dependent,  helpless, 
Untaught  in  any  craft  that  could  be  made 
To  yield  emolument,  —  our  average  women,  — 
What  can  they  do  but  take  the  common  path 


The  Mothers  Story.  65 

Which  my  poor  mother  would  have  made  me  try, 
And  lead  some  honest  man  to  think  that  they 
Are  wedding  him,  and  not  his  bank-account  ? 
Let  woman,  equally  with  man,  be  bred 
To  learn  with  thoroughness  some  craft  or  trade 
By  which  she  may  support  herself  at  least, 
You  place  her  more  at  liberty  to  shun 
Unions,  no  priest,  no  church  can  sanctify ! ' 

"  Percival  eyed  me  with  a  puzzled  look, 
Then  said :  '  The  time  is  on  its  way,  I  hope, 
When  from  her  thraldom  woman  will  come  forth, 
And  in  her  own  hands  take  her  own  redress  ; 
When  laws  disabling  her  shall  not  be  made 
Under  the  cowardly,  untested  plea 
That  man  is  better  qualified  than  woman 
To  estimate  her  needs  and  do  her  justice. 
Justice  to  her  shall  be  to  man  advancement ; 
And  woman's  wit  can  best  heal  woman's  wrongs. 
Accelerate  that  time,  all  women  true 


66  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

To  their  own  sex,  —  yet  not  so  much  to  that 
As  to  themselves  and  all  the  human  race ! 
But  pardon  me  ;  I  wander  from  the  point,  — 
Following  you.     Now  tell  me,  could  you  make 
America  your  home  ? ' 

"The  sudden  question 

Made  my  heart  leap,  and  the  hot  crimson  rush 
Up  to  my  brow.     Silent  I  bowed  my  head, 
And  he  continued  thus  :  '  If  it  should  be, 
That  one,  not  wholly  alien  to  your  tastes,  — 
A  man  not  quite  so  young  as  you,  perhaps, 
But  not  beyond  his  prime,  —  an  honest  man,  — 
I  will  not  say  with  ample  means,  for  that 
Would  jar   upon  your   heart,  —  one   who   could 

make 

Your  home  a  plentiful  and  happy  one,  - 
Should  offer  you  his  hand,  —  would  it  deter  you 
To  know  that  in  America  your  lot 
Must  henceforth  be  ? ' 

"  My  breath  came  quick,  —  my  eyes 


The  Mothers  Story.  67 

Turned  swift  away,  lest  he  should  mark  their  joy 
And  count  his  prize  too  cheaply  won.     I  sighed, 
But  did  not  speak.     '  May  I  go  on  ? '  he  asked. 
A  '  yes '  distinct,  though  faint,  flew  from  my  lips. 
'  May  I,'  said  he,  '  tell  Kenrick  he  may  hope  ? ' 
'  What ! '    cried    I,   looking    up,    with    something 

fiercer 
Than  mere  chagrin  in  my  unguarded  frown." 

Linda  broke  in  upon  the  story  here, 
And  turning  to  her  father  with  a  smile 
Tender  as  dawning  light,  yet  arch  and  gay, 
Cried,  "  Fie,  my  father  !     Could  you  be  so  dull  ? 
How  could  you  treat  my  future  mother  so  ? " 
"  Nay,  do  not  blame  me  hastily,"  said  he, 
With  glad  paternal  eyes  regarding  her  ; 
"  How  could  a  modest  man —  and  I  was  one  — 
Suppose   that   youth    and   wealth,    and   gracious 

gifts 
Of  person,  such  as  Kenrick  wore  so  well, 


68  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Could  fail  to  win  ?     Truly  I  did  not  dream, 
Spite  of  the  proverb,  Love  could  be  so  blind." 

Tossing  her  head  with  mock  vindictive  air, 
Like  sweet  sixteen,  the  mother  then  resumed  : 
"Kenrick,  it  seems,  being  a  bashful  man,— 
And  somewhat  shy,  perhaps,  because  I  knew 
He  was  but  recently  in  mad  pursuit 
Of  an  unfaithful  spouse,  a  runaway, 
Commissioned  Percival  to  try  the  ground, 
Obscure  and  doubtful,  of  my  woman's  will. 
My  absolute  '  What  ! '  was  unequivocal. 
Then  turning  to  the  coachman,  Percival, 
Said,  '  Home,  now,  home  !  and  quickly  ! ' 

"  Home  we  rattled, 

And  both  were  silent  to  our  journey's  end. 
An  eager  glance  he  gave  me  as  he  touched 
My  hand  to  help  me  from  the  carriage.     He 
Has  told  me  since  that  I  returned  the  look 
With  one  which,  if  not  actually  scorn, 


The  Mother's  Story.  69 

Was   next   of  kin   to   scorn,   and    much   resem 
bling:  — 
All  the  chimera  of  his  guilty  conscience. 

"  Kenrick  next  day  renewed  his  suit  by  letter  ; 
He  begged  I  would  not  give  a  hasty  *  No,' 
But  wait  and  grant  him  opportunities 
To  prove  that  he  was  worthy  and  sincere, 
And  to  procure  the  requisite  divorce. 
While  I  was  answering  his  letter,  he 
Drove  out  with  Percival.     My  brief  reply 
Told  him  there  could  be  no  decision  other 
Than  a  complete  and  final  negative. 

"  Then  I  sat  down  and  ran  my  fingers  over 
The  keys  of  the  piano  ;  and  my  mood 
At  length  expressed  itself  in  that  wild  burst 
Of  a  melodious  anguish,  which  Edgardo 
Gives  vent  to  in  '  Lucia.'     Words  could  add 
Nothing  to  magnify  the  utter  heart-break 


70  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Of  that  despair  ;  and  Donizetti's  score 
Has  made  the  cry  audible  through  the  ages. 
Less  from  the  instrument  than  from  my  heart 
Was  wrung  the  passionate  music. 

"  At  its  close, 
A  long-drawn  breath  made  me  look  round,  and 

there 

Whom  should  I  see  but  Percival,  as  if 
Transfixed  in  mute  surprise  !     '  I  did  not  know 
There  was  a  listener,  —  had  supposed  you  gone,' 
Said  I ;  and  he  replied  :  '  I  thought  you  'd  have 
Some  word  for  Kenrick  :  so  our  drive  was  short.' 
'  Nothing  but  this.'     I  handed  him  my  letter  ; 
He  took  it,  bowed,  and  left  me. 

"  The  next  day 

I  learnt  that  Kenrick  had  engaged  his  passage 
In   Wednesday's   steamer   for    New   York.     My 

stay 

Must  now  be  brief ;  my  services  no  longer 
Could  be  of  any  use  ;  and  so  I  wrote 


The  Mother  s  Story.  71 

Some  formal  lines,  addressed  to  Percival, 
Asking  for  my  dismissal,  and  conveying 
To  both  the  gentlemen  my  thanks  sincere 
For  all  their  kindness  and  munificence. 
Two  days  I  waited,  but  no  answer  came. 

"  The  third  day  Kenrick  sought  an  interview, 
We  met,  and  freely  talked  of  this  and  that. 
Said  he,  at  last :  '  Into  what  false,  false  ways 
We  plunge  because  we  do  not  care  to  think  ! 
We  shudder  at  Chinese  morality 
When  it  allows  a  parent  to  destroy 
Superfluous  female  children.     Look  at  home ! 
Have  we  no  ancient  social  superstitions 
Born  of  the  same  old  barbarous  family  ? 
My  life,  Miss  Merivale,  has  been  so  crowded 
That  I  Ve  had  little  time  to  trace  opinion 
Down  to  its  root  before  accepting  it. 
In  giving  opportunity  for  thought, 
Sickness  has  been  a  brisk  iconoclast. 


72  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Behold  the  world's  ideal  of  a  wife ! 
?T  is  something  like  to  this  : 

"  '  She  marries  young, 
Perhaps  in  meek  submission  to  the  will 
.Parental,  or  in  hope  of  a  support ; 
In  a  few  years,  —  as  heart  and  brain  mature, 
And   knowledge   widens,  —  finds    her    lord   and 

master 

Is  a  wrong-headed  churl,  a  selfish  tyrant, 
A  miser,  or  a  blockhead,  or  a  brute  ; 
Her  love  for  him,  if  love  there  ever  was, 
Is  turned  to  hatred  or  indifference : 
What  shall  she  do  ?     The  world  has  one  reply  : 
You  made  your  bed,  and  you  must  lie  in  it  ; 
True,  you  were  heedless  seventeen  —  no  matter ! 
True,  a  false  sense  of  duty  urged  you  on, 
And  you  were  wrongly  influenced  —  no  matter  ! 
Be  his  wife  still ;  stand  by  him  to  the  last ; 
Do  not  rebel  against  his  cruelty  ; 
The  more  he  plays  the  ruffian,  the  more  merit 


The  Mother's  Story.  73 

In  your  endurance  !     Suffering  is  your  lot ; 

It  is  the  badge  and  jewel  of  a  woman. 

Shun  not  contamination  from  his  touch  ; 

Keep  having  children  by  him,  that  his  traits 

And  his  bad  blood  may  be  continuous. 

Think   that  you  love   him   still ;  and  feed  your 

heart 
With  all  the  lies  you  can,  to  keep  it  passive ! 

" '  So  say  the  bellwethers  who  lead  the  many 
Over  stone  walls  into  the  thorns  and  ditches, 
Because  their  fathers  took  that  way  before  them. 
Such  is  the  popular  morality  ! 
But  is  it  moral  ?     Nay  ;  when  man  or  woman 
Can  look  up,  with  the  heart  of  prayer,  and  say, 
Forbid  it,  Heaven,  forbid  it,  self-respect, 
Forbid  it,  merciful  regard  for  others, 
That  this  one  should  be  parent  to  my  child,  — 
That  moment  should  the  intimate  relations 
Of  marriage  end,  and  a  release  be  found  ! 

4 


74  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

"  '  How  many  blunder  in  mistaking  Passion, 
Mixed  with  a  little  sentiment,  for  Love ! 
Passion  may  lead  to  Love,  as  it  may  lead 
Away  from  Love,  but  Passion  is  not  Love ; 
It  may  exist  with  Hate  ;  too  often  leads 
Its  victim  blindfold  into  hateful  bonds, 
Under  the  wild  delusion  that  Love  leads. 
Love's  bonds  are  adamant,  and  Love  a  slave ; 
And  yet  Love's  service  must  be  perfect  freedom. 
Candor  it  craves,  for  Love  is  innocent,  — 
But  no  enforced  fidelity,  no  ties 
Such  as  the  harem  shelters.     Dupes  are  they 
Who  think  that  Love  can  ever  be  compelled  ! 
Only  what  Js  lovely  Love  can  truly  love, 
And  fickleness  and  falsehood  are  deformed. 
Reveal  their  features,  Love  may  mourn  indeed, 
But  will  not  rave.     Love,  even  when  abandoned, 
Feels  pity  and  not  anger  for  the  heart 
That  could  not  prize  Love's  warm  fidelity. 
But  Passion,  selfish,  proud,  and  murderous, 


The  Mothers  Story.  75 

Seizes  the  pistol  or  the  knife,  and  kills  ;  — 
And  cozened  juries  make  a  heroine 
Of  her  who,  stung  with  jealousy  or  pride, 
Or,  by  some  meaner  motive,  hurled  a  wreck, 
Assassinates  her  too  inconstant  wooer. 

" '  Now  do  I  see  how  little,  in  my  case, 

There  was  of  actual  love,  how  much  of  passion  ! 

Love's  day  for  me,  if  it  may  ever  come 

In  this  brief  stage,  is  yet  to  dawn.     You  smile  ; 

Love  must  have  hope,  a  ray  of  hope,  at  least, 

To  catch  the  hue  of  life ;  and  so,  Miss  Mary, 

I  '11  not  profess  to  love  you  ;  all  I  say 

Is,  that  a  little  hope  from  you  would  make  me ! 

But,  since  we  can't  be  lovers,  let  's  be  friends ; 

Here,  in  this  little  wallet,  is  a  check 

For  an  amount  that  will  secure  your  future 

From  serious  want,  —  a  sum  I  shall  not  miss. 

But  which  — ' 

"With  many  thanks  I  answered  '  No  !' 


76  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

1  What  can  I  do  ? '  he  asked,  '  to  show  my  debt 
To  you  and  Percival  ? '     I  shook  my  head, 
And  something  in  the  sadness  of  my  smile 
Arrested  his  attention.     But  that  moment 
A  girl  rushed  in  with  cry  of  '  O,  he  's  killed  — 
Killed,  the  poor  man  ! '  —  '  Who  ? '  —  <  Mr.  Per 
cival  ! ' 

The  name  was  like  a  blow  upon  my  heart, 
And  Kenrick  saw  it,  and  supported  me. 

"  But  in  a  moment  I  was  strong.     I  heard 

A  scuffling  noise  of  people  at  the  door, 

And  then  a  form  —  't  was  Percival's  —  was  borne 

Into  a  room,  and  placed  upon  a  bed. 

Pale  and  insensible  he  lay  ;  a  surgeon 

Came  in  ;  at  last  we  got  an  explanation  : 

In  rescuing  from  a  frightened  horse  the  child 

Of  a  poor  woman,  Percival  had  been  * 

Thrown  down,  an  arm  been  broken,  and  the  pain 

Had  made  him  faint.     My  nervous  laugh  of  joy, 


The  Mothers  Story.  77 

When  I  was  sure  that  this  was  the  extreme 
Of  injury,  betrayed  my  reckless  heart, 
And  Kenrick  had  my  secret.     Percival 
Was  soon  himself;  the  broken  limb  was  set, 
And  I,  engaged  to  stay  another  week 
To  wait  on  the  new  patient  —  nothing  loath. 

"  The  day  of  his  departure,  Kenrick  drew  me 
Aside,  and,  in  a  whisper,  said,  '  He  loves  you  ! ' 
'  Loves  me  ? '     With  palms  held  tightly  on  my 

breast 
To   keep   my   heart   down,    I    repeated,    '  Loves 

me?' 

'T  was  hard  to  credit.     '  Pardon  me,'  said  Ken 
rick, 

*  If  by  communication  of  your  secret, 
I  changed  the  desolation  of  his  life 
To  sudden  bloom  and  fragrance,  for  a  moment.' 
'  A  moment  only  ? '  —  '  Soon  his  scruples  rose  : 
It  cannot  be  !  he  said  ;  two  mountains  lie 


78  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Between  my  fate  and  hers.  —  Two  bubbles  rather! 
Retorted  I ;  let  's  take  their  altitude.  — 
One  is  my  age.  —  That  mountain  is  already 
Tunnelled  or  levelled,  since  she  sees  it  not.  — 
The  other  is  that  infamous  decree 
Against  me  at  the  period  of  my  suit, 
Granting  the  guilty  party  a  divorce, 
But  me  prohibiting  to  wed  again.  — 
Well,  that  decree  (I  answered  bitterly) 
Would  have  with  me  the  weight  of  a  request 
That  I  'd  hereafter  quaff  at  common  puddles 
And  not  at  one  pure  fount ;  I  'd  heed  the  bar 
As  I  would  heed  the  grass-webbed  gossamer ; 
I  'd  sooner  balk  a  bench  of  drivellers 
Than  outrage  sacred  nature.  —  If  that  bench 
Could  have  you  up  for  bigamy,  what  then  ?  — 
The  dear  old  dames !  they  should  not  have  the 

means 

To  prove  it  on  me :  for  the  pact  should  be 
'Twixt  me  and  her  who  would  accept  my  troth 


The  Mothers  Story.  79 

Freely  before  high  heaven  and  all  its  angels : 

Witnesses  which  the  sheriff  could  not  summon, 

Could  not,  at  least,  produce.  —  But,  Kenrick,  you 

Do  not  consider  all  the  risk  and  pain  ; 

The  social  stigma,  and,  should  children  come, 

The  grief,  the  shame,  the  disrepute  to  them.  — 

To  which  I  answered :  God's  great  gift  of  life, 

Coming  through  parentage  select  and  pure, 

To  me  is  such  a  sacred,  sacred  thing, 

So  precious,  so  inestimably  precious, 

That  your  objections  seem  of  small  account ; 

Since  only  stunted  hearts  and  slavish  minds 

Could  visit  on  your  children  disrepute, 

Who  fitly  could  ignore  such  Brahmanism, 

Since  they  'd  be  born,  most  probably,  with  brains. 

"'  When  the  neglect  of  form,  if 't  is  neglected, 
Is  all  in  honor,  purged  of  selfishness, 
Where  shall  the  heart  and  reason  lay  the  blame  ? 
But  understand  me  :  Would  I  cheapen  form  ? 


8o  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Nay,  I  should  fear  that  those  who  would  evade  it, 

Without  a  reason  potent  as  your  own, 

Trifled  with  danger.     But  I  cannot  make 

A  god  of  form,  an  idol  crushing  me. 

Unlike  the  church,  I  look  on  marriage  as 

A  civil  contract,  not  a  sacrament, 

Indissoluble,  spite  of  every  wrong  ; 

The  high  and  holy  purposes  of  marriage 

Are  not  fulfilled  in  instances  where  each 

Helps  to  demoralize  or  blight  the  other  ; 

Let  it  then  stand,  like  other  contracts,  on 

A  basis  purely  personal  and  legal. 

' '  Oh  !  how  we  hug  the  fictions  we  are  born  to ! 
Challenging  never,  never  testing  them  ; 
Accepting  them  as  irreversible  ; 
Part  of  God's  order,  not  to  be  improved ; 
Placing  the  form  above  the  informing  spirit, 
The  outward  show  above  the  inward  life  ; 
A  hollow  he,  well  varnished,  well  played  out, 


The  Mothers  Story.  81 

Above  the  pure,  the  everlasting  truth  ; 
Fancying  Nature  is  not  Nature  still, 
Because  repressed,  or  cheated,  or  concealed ; 
Juggling  ourselves  with  frauds  a  very  child, 
Yet  unperverted,  readily  would  pierce  ! 

"  '  Consider  my  own  case :  a  month  ago, 

See  me  a  maniac,  rushing  forth  to  find 

A  wife  who  loved  me  not ;  my  heart  all  swollen 

With  rage  against  the  man  to  whom  I  owed 

Exposure  of  her  falsehood  ;  ah,  how  blind  ! 

To  chase  a  form  from  which  the  soul  had  fled  ! 

If  I  grew  sane  at  length,  you,  Percival, 

And  the  mere  presence  of  our  little  nurse 

Have  brought  me  light  and  healing.    I  am  cured, 

Thank  Heaven,  and  can  exult  at  my  release. 

" '  Here  I  paused.     Percival  made  no  reply, 
But  sat  like  one  absorbed.     I  paced  the  floor 
Awhile,  and  then  confronting  him  resumed  :  — 
4*  F 


82  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Your  scruples  daunt  you  still ;  well,  there  's  a  way 

To  free  you  from  the  meshes  of  the  law : 

On  my  return,  I  '11  go  to  Albany, 

Where  war's  financial  sinews,  as  you  know, 

Are  those  of  legislation  equally; 

I  '11  have  a  law  put  through  to  meet  your  case  ; 

To  strip  away  these  toils.     I  can  ;  I  will !  — 

Percival  almost  stunned  me  with  his  No  ! 

Make  me  a  gutter,  adding  more  pollution 

To  the  fount  of  public  justice  ?     Never !     No  ! 

I  would  not  feed  corruption  with  a  bribe, 

To  win  release  to-morrow.     Such  a  cure 

Would  be,  my  friend,  far  worse  than  the  disease.  -*. 

Then  there  's  no  way,  said  I ;  and  so,  farewell ! 

The  carriage  waits  to  take  me  to  the  station.  — 

I  shall  not  say  farewell  until  we  part 

Beside  the  carriage-door,  said  he :  you  '11  take 

Your  leave  of  Mary  ?  —  Yes,  I  go  to  seek  her.  — 

And  this,  Miss  Mary,  is  a  full  report 

Of  all  that  passed  between  my  friend  and  me/ 


The  Mothers  Story.  $3 

"  Here  Kenrick  ended.    He  had  been,  methought, 

Thus  copious,  in  the  hope  his  argument 

Would  make  me  look  as  scornfully  as  he 

On  obstacles  that  Percival  would  raise. 

I  thanked  him  for  his  courtesy,  and  then, 

Not  without  some  emotion,  we  two  parted. 

When  the  last  sound  of  the  retiring  wheels 

Was  drowned  in  other  noises,  Percival 

Came  in,  and  found  me  waiting  in  the  parlor. 

'  Now  let  me  have  a  talk  with  you,'  he  said. 

So,  in  the  little  parlor  we  sat  down. 

I  see  it  now,  all  vividly  before  me ! 

The  carpet  — ay,  its  very  hues  and  figures  : 

The  chandelier,  the  sofa,  the  engraving 

Of  Wellington  that  hung  above  the  mantel ; 

The  little  bookcase,  holding  Scott  and  Irving, 

And  Gibbon's  Rome,  and  Eloisa's  Letters  ; 

And,  in  a  vase,  upon  the  marble  stand, 

An  opening  rose-bud  I  had  plucked  that  day  — 

Type  of  my  own  unfolding,  rosy  hope  ! 


84  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

"  Said  Percival :  '  We  '11  not  amuse  each  other 

With  words  indifferent ;  and  we  '11  allow 

Small  opportunity  for  hearts  to  speak  : 

We  know  what  they  would  utter,  might  we  dare 

To  give  them  audience.     Let  Reason  rule. 

What  I  propose  is  this  :  that  we  now  part  — 

Part  for  two  years  ;  and  when  that  term  shall  end, 

If  we  are  still  in  heart  disposed  as  now, 

Then  can  we  orient  ourselves  anew, 

And  shape  our  course  as  wary  conscience  bids. 

Till  then,  no  meeting  and  no  correspondence  ! 

"'Now  for  conditions  more  particular: 

You  have  a  sister  —  Mrs.  Hammersley  — 

Julia,  I  think  you  said,  —  an  elder  sister, 

Resident  here,  and  in  society, 

But  fretted  by  her  lord's  extravagance 

And  her  own  impecuniosity. 

You  at  her  house  shall  be  a  visitor, 

But  not  without  the  means  of  aiding  her  ; 


The  Mothers  Story.  85 

And  who  but  I  can  now  supply  the  means  ? 
Here  's  the  dilemma :  how  can  you  be  free 
If  you  're  my  debtor  ?     Yet  you  must  be  free, 
And  promise  to  be  free ;  nor  let  my  gift 
Sway  you  one  jot  in  trammelling  your  heart. 
Two  years  you  '11  spend  with  Mrs.  Hammersley  ; 
Accepting  all  Society  can  offer 
To  welcome  youth  and  beauty  to  its  lap  ; 
Keeping  your  heart  as  open  as  you  can 
To  influences  and  impressions  new ; 
For,  Mary,  bear  in  mind  how  young  you  are  ! 
So  much  for  you.     On  my  part,  I  '11  return 
To  my  own  country,  and  endeavor  there 
Once  more  to  rectify  the  wretched  wrong 
That  circumscribes  me.     I  shall  fail  perhaps  — 
But  we  can  be  prepared  for  either  issue.' 

"  Here  he  was  silent,  and  I  said  :  '  You  're  right, 
And  I  accept  your  terms  without  reserve.' 
We  parted,  and  except  a  clasp  of  hands 


86  '1'he   Woman  who  Dared. 

That  lingered  in  each  other,  and  a  glance 

That  flashed  farewell  from  eyes  enthroning  truth, 

There  was  no  outward  token  of  our  love. 

"  Two  years  (the  longest  of  my  life  were  they  !) 
Emptied  their  sands  at  last,  and  then  I  wrote 
A  letter  to  him,  to  the  Barings'  care, 
Containing  one  word  only  ;  this  :  '  Unchanged' 
In  the  same  old  familiar  room  we  met : 
Eager  I  gave  my  hand  ;  but  he  drew  back, 
Folded  his  arms,  and  said,  with  half  a  smile  : 
'  'T  is  not  for  me  ;  still  am  I  under  ban  ! ' 
'  I  'm  glad  of  that ! '  cried  I  ;  '  't  will  help  to  show 
How  slight,  to  love  like  mine,  impediments 
Injustice  can  pile  up  ! ' 

"  He  took  my  hand, 

And,  for  the  first  time,  we  exchanged  a  kiss. 
Then  we  sat  down  and  freely  talked.     Said  he  : 
*  Baffled  in  all  my  efforts  to  procure 
Reversal  of  my  sentence,  I  resolved 


The  Mothers  Story.  87 

To  terminate  one  misery  at  least : 
Yearly  the  court  compelled  me,  through  my  bonds 
men, 

To  render  an  account  of  all  my  income, 
Of  which  the  larger  portion  must  be  paid 
For  the  support  oi  my  betrayer,  and 
The  child,  called,  by  a  legal  fiction,  mine. 
To  this  annoyance  of  an  annual  dealing 
With  her  attorney,  I  would  put  an  end  ; 
And  so  I  compromised  by  giving  up 
Two  thirds  of  all  my  property  at  once. 
This  leaves  me  free  from  all  entanglement 
With   her    or    hers,  —  though    with    diminished 
means. 

"  '  And  now,  since  still  you  venture  to  confide 
Wholly  in  me,  my  Mary  Merivale,  — 
And  since  you  would  intrust  your  happiness 
To  one  who  can  but  give  you  love  for  love,  — 
To  make  our  income  certain,  't  is  my  plan 


88  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Straightway  my  little  remnant  to  convert 

Into  a  joint  annuity,  to  last 

During  our  natural  lives  :  this  will  secure 

A  fair,  though  not  munificent  support 

And  since  for  me  you  put  the  gay  world  by, 

And  since  for  you  I  make  no  sacrifice, 

Now  shape  our  way  of  life  as  you  may  choose.' 

"  This  I  disclaimed ;  but  we  at  last  arranged 

That  on  the  morrow,  in  the  presence  of 

My  poor  friend  Lucy,  and  my  sister  Julia, 

We  two  should  take  each  other  by  the  hand 

As  emblem  of  a  pledge  including  all 

Of  sacred  and  inviolable,  all 

Of  holy  and  sincere,  that  man  and  woman, 

Uniting  for  connubial  purposes, 

And  with  no  purpose  foreign  to  right  love, 

Can,  with  responsible  intelligence, 

Give  to  each  other  in  the  face  of  God, 

And  before  human  witnesses. 


The  Mothers  Story.  89 

"  And  so 

The  simple  rite  —  if  such  it  could  be  called  — 
Took  place.     A  formal  kiss  was  interchanged, 
And  then  we  all  knelt  down,  and  Percival 
Met  our  hearts'  need  with  such  a  simple  prayer 
As  by  its  quickening  and  inspiring  faith 
Made  us  forget  it  was  another's  voice, 
Not  our  own  hearts,  that  spoke.     My  sister  Julia 
Wept,  not  for  me,  but  for  herself,  poor  child ! 
The  chill,  the  gloom  of  an  unhappy  future 
Crept  on  her  lot  already,  like  a  mist 
Foreshadowing  the  storm  ;  she  saw,  not  distant, 
All  the  despair  of  a  regretful  marriage 
Menacing  her  and  driving  forth  her  children. 
It  did  not  long  delay.     Her  spendthrift  lord, 
After  a  squander  of  his  own  estate, 
And  after  swindling  my  confiding  father 
Of  a  large  sum,  deserted  wife  and  children, 
To  play  the  chevalier  of  industry 
At  Baden,  or  at  Homburg,  and  put  on 


9°  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

More  of  the  aspect  of  the  beast  each  day. 
Three  children  have  his  blood  to  strive  against. 
Poor  Julia  !     What  she  has  to  live  on  now 
Was  given  by  Linda's  father.    We  found  means, 
Also,  to  set  up  our  poor  sewing-girl, 
My  old  companion,  Lucy,  in  a  trade 
In  which  she  thrives,  —  she  and  a  worthy  hus 
band. 

"What  said  my  parents?     Well,   I  wrote  them 

soon, 

Relating  all  the  facts  without  reserve, 
And  asking,  '  Would  it  be  agreeable  to  them 
To  have  a  visit  from  us  ? '     They  replied, 
'  It  will  not  be  agreeable,  for  our  house 
Is  one  of  good  repute.'  —  Not  three  years  after, 
A  joint  appeal  came  to  us  for  their  aid 
To  the  amount  of  seven  hundred  pounds. 
We  sent  the  money,  and  it  helped  to  smooth 
Their  latter  days  ;  perhaps  to  mitigate 


The  Mother's  Story.  91 

The  anger  they  had  felt ;  and  yet  not  they  : 
Of  the  ungenerous  words  addressed  to  us 
My  father  never  knew. 

"  We  met  my  sisters, 

Through  Julia's  urging,  I  believe,  and  proudly 
I  let  them  see  what  sort  of  man  I  'd  chosen. 
We  travelled  for  a  time  in  England  ;  then, 
In  travel  and  in  study,  spent  three  years 
Upon  the  Continent ;  and  sailed  at  last 
For  the  great  land  to  which  my  thoughts  had 

turned 

So  often  —  for  America.     Arriving 
Here  in  New  York,  we  took  this  little  house, 
Scene  of  so  many  joys  and  one  great  woe  ; 
And  yet  a  woe  so  full  of  heavenly  life 
We  should  not  call  it  by  a  mournful  name. 

"  At  length  our  Linda  came  to  make  all  bright ; 
And  I  can  say,  should  the  great  summoner 
Call  me  this  day  to  leave  you,  liberal  Heaven 


92  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

More  than  my  share  of  mortal  bliss  already 

Would  have  bestowed.     Yes,  little  Linda  came  ! 

To  spoil  us  for  all  happiness  but  that 

In  which  she  too  could  share  —  the  dear  beguiler ! 

And  with  the  sceptre  of  her  love  she  ruled  us, 

And  with  a  happy  spirit's  charm  she  charmed  us, 

Artfully  conquering  by  shunning  conquest, 

And  by  obeying  making  us  obey. 

And  so,  one  day,  one  happy  day  in  June, 

We  all  sat  down  together,  and  her  mother 

Told  her  the  story  which  here  terminates." 


IV. 

PARADISE    FOUND. 

"V^OIJ  might  have  made  it  longer,"  murmured 

Linda, 

Who  with  moist  eyes  had  listened,  and  to  whom 
The  time  had  seemed  inexplicably  brief. 
Then  with  an  arm  round  either  parent's  neck, 
And  with  a  kiss  on  either  parent's  cheek, 
She  said  :  "  My  lot  is  as  the  good  God  gave  it ; 
And  I  'd  not  have  it  other  than  it  is. 
Could  a  permit  from  any  human  lips 
Have  made  me  any  more  a  child  of  God  ? 


94  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Have  made  me  any  more  your  child,  my  parents  ? 
Have  made  me  any  more  my  own  true  self? 
Happy,  and  oh  !  not  diffident  to  feel 
My  right  to  be  and  breathe  the  common  air  ? 
Could  any  form  of  words  approving  it 
Have  made  us  three  more  intimately  near  ? 
Have  made  us  three  more  exquisitely  dear  ? 
Ah  !  if  it  could,  our  love  is  not  the  love 
I  hold  it  now  to  be  —  immortal  love  ! " 

With  speechless  joy  and  a  new  pride  they  gazed 
Into  her  fair  and  youthful  countenance, 
Bright  with  ethereal  bloom  and  tenderness. 
Then  smoothing  back  her  hair,  the  father  said  : 
"An    anxious    thought    comes    to   us   now   and 

then,  — 

Comes  like  a  cloud  :  the  thought  that  we  as  yet 
Have  no  provision  from  our  income  saved 
For  Linda.     My  few  little  ventures,  made 
In  commerce,  in  a  profitable  hope, 


Paradise  Found.  95 

So  adversely  resulted  that  I  saw 

My  best  advance  would  be  in  standing  still. 

As  you  have  heard,  all  that  we  now  possess 

Is  in  a  life-annuity  which  ends 

With  two  frail  lives  —  your  mother's  and  my  own. 

So,  should  death  overtake  us  both  at  once,  — 

And  this  I  Ve  looked  on  as  improbable,  — 

Our  little  girl  would  be  left  destitute." 

"  Not  destitute,  my  father  !  "  Linda  cried  ; 

"  Far  back  as  thought  can  go,  you   taught  me 

this: 

To  help  myself ;  to  seek,  in  my  own  mind, 
Companionship  forever  new  and  glad, 
Through  studies,  meditations,  and  resources 
Which  nature,  books,  and  crowded  life  supply* 
And  then  you  urged  me  to  excel  in  something ; 
('  Better  do  one  thing  thoroughly,'  you  said, 
'  Than  fifty  only  tolerably  well,')  — 
Something  from  which,  with  loving  diligence, 


96  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

I  might,  should  life's  contingencies  require, 
Wring  a  support  ;  —  and  then,  how  carefully 
You  taught  me  how  to  deal  with  slippery  men ! 
Taught  me  my  rights,  the  laws,  the  very  forms 
By  which  to  guard  against  neglect  or  fraud 
In  any  business  —  till  I  'm  half  a  lawyer. 
You  taught  me,  too,  how  to  protect  myself, 
Should  force  assail  me  ;  how  to  hold  a  pistol, 
Carry  it,  fire  it  —  Heaven  save  me  from  the  need ! 
And,  when  I  was  a  very  little  girl, 
You  used  to  take  me  round  to  see  the  houses 
As  they  were  built ;  the  clearing  of  the  land  ; 
The  digging  of  the  cellar  ;  the  foundations  ; 
You  told  me  that  the  sand  to  make  the  mortar 
Ought  to  be  fresh,  and  not  the  sea-shore  sand  ; 
Else*would  the  salt  keep  up  a  certain  moisture. 
And  then  we  'd  watch  the  framework,  and  the 

roofing ; 

And  you'd  explain  the  office  and  the  name 
Of  every  beam,  and  make  me  understand 


Paradise  Found.  97 

The  qualities  of  wood,  seasoning  of  timber, 
And  how  the  masons,  and  the  carpenters, 
The  plasterers,  the  plumbers,  and  the  slaters, 
Should  do  their  work  ;  and  when  they  slighted 

it, 

And  when  the  wood-work  was  too  near  the  flue, 
The  flue  too  narrow,  or  the  draught  defective  : 
So  that,  as  you  yourself  have  often  said, 
I  'm  better  qualified  than  half  the  builders 
To  plan  and  build  a  house,  and  guard  myself 
From  being  cheated  in  the  operation. 
Fear  not  for  me,  my  parents  ;  spend  your  income 
Without  a  thought  of  saving.     And  besides, 
Had  you  not  trained  me  aptly  as  you  have, 
Am  I  not  better  —  I  —  than  many  sparrows  ? 
There  is  a  heavenly  Father  over  all !  " 

"  Sweet  arguer  !  "  said  Percival,  "  may  He 
And  his  swift  angels  love  and  help  our  Linda ! 
Your  mother  and  myself  have  tried  of  late 
5  G 


98  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

To  study  how  and  where  we  might  reduce 

Certain  expenses  that  have  been, " 

But  here 

The  dinner-bell  broke  in ;  and  lighter  thoughts  — 
Thoughts  that  but  skim  the  surface  of  the  mind, 
And  stir  not  its  profound  —  were  interchanged 
As  now  more  timely  ;  for  the  Percivals 
Lacked  not  good  appetites,  and  every  meal 
Had  its  best  stimulant  in  cheerfulness. 
"  Where  shall  we  go  to  pass  our  holidays  ?  " 
The  mother  asked  :  "August  will  soon  be  here." 
"What  says  our  Linda  ?  "  answered  Percival : 
"  The  seaside  or  the  mountains  shall  it  be  ?  " 
"  Linda  will  go  with  the  majority  ! 
You  Ve  spilt  the  salt,  papa ;  please  throw  a  little 
Over  your  shoulder  ;  there  !  that  saves  a  quarrel. 
To  me  you  leave  it,  do  you  ?  to  decide 
Where   we   shall   go  ?  Then   hear   the   voice   of 

wisdom  : 
The  mountain  air  is  good,  I  love  the  mountains  ; 


Paradise  Found.  99 

And  the  sea  air  is  good,  I  love  the  sea  ; 
But  if  you  two  prefer  the  mountain  air, — 
Go  to  the  mountains.     On  the  contrary,  — " 
"She's     neutral!"    cried    the   father;    "what   a 

dodger 

This  little  girl  has  grown  !     Come,  now,  I  '11  cast 
Into  the  scale  my  sword,  and  say  we  '11  go 
To  old  Cape  Ann.     Does  any  slave  object  ? 
None.     'T  is  a  special  edict.     Pass  the  peas. 
Our  rendezvous  shall  be  off  Eastern  Point. 
There  shall  our  Linda  try  the  oar  again." 

Dinner  was  ended,  and  the  gas  was  lit, 
And  The  Day's  last  edition  had  been  put 
Into  his  hand  to  read,  when  suddenly 
Turning  to  Mary,  with  a  sigh  he  said  : 
"  Kenrick,  I  see,  is  dead  —  Kenrick,  our  friend. 
'  Died  in  Chicago  on  the  seventh  instant,  — 
Leaves  an  estate  valued  at  seven  millions/  " 
"  Indeed  !  our  faithful  Kenrick  —  is  he  dead  ? 


ioo  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Leaves  he  a  wife  ?  "  —  "  Probably  not,  my  dear ; 

Three  months  ago  he  was  a  single  man ; 

I  had  a  letter  from  him,  begging  me, 

If  I  lacked  funds  at  any  time  to  draw 

On  him,  and  not  be  modest  in  my  draft." 

"  But  that  was  generous  ;  what  did  you  reply  ? " 

"  I  thanked  him  for  his  love,  and  promised  him 

He  should  be  first  to  hear  of  wants  of  mine. 

Now  let  us  to  the  music-room  adjourn, 

And  hear  what  will  not  jar  with  our  regrets." 

They  went ;  and  Mary  mother  played  and  sang  ; 

Played  the  '  Dead  March  in  Saul '  and  sang  '  Old 

Hundred,' 

'  Come,  ye  Disconsolate,'  '  When  thee  I  seek '  — 
And  finally  these  unfamiliar  words  :  — 


O,  give  me  one  breath  from  that  land  — 
The  land  to  which  all  of  us  go  ! 

Even  now,  O  my  soul !  art  thou  fanned 
By  the  breezes  that  over  it  blow. 


Paradise  Found.  101 

ii. 
By  the  breezes  that  over  it  blow  ! 

Though  far  from  the  knowledge  of  sense, 
The  shore  of  that  land  thou  dost  know  — 

There  soon  wilt  thou  go  with  me  hence. 

in. 
There  soon  wilt  thou  go  with  me  hence  — 

But  where,  O  my  soul !  where  to  be  ? 
In  that  region,  that  region  immense, 

The  loved  and  the  lost  shall  we  see  ? 

IV. 

The  loved  and  the  lost  shall  we  see  ! 

For  Love  all  it  loves  shall  make  near ; 
Type  and  outcome  of  Love  shall  it  be  — 

Our  home  in  that  infinite  sphere  ! 

A  day's  excursion  to  a  favorite  spot  — 
Choice  nook  among  the  choicest  of  Long  Island, 
(Paradise  Found,  he  called  it  playfully)  — 
Had  oft  been  planned  ;  and  one  day  Percival 
Said  :  "  Let  us  go  to  day  !  "  —  "  No,  not  to-day  ! " 
Cried  Linda,  with  a  shudder.  —  "  And  why  not  ? 


102  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

It  is  the  very  day  of  all  the  year  ! 

There  's  an  elastic  coolness  in  the  air, 

Thanks  to  the  thunder-shower  we  had  last  night : 

A  day  for  out-of-doors  !     Your  reasons,  Linda  ? 

Tears  in  your  eyes !    Nay,  I  Jll  not  ask  for  reasons. 

We  will  not  go."  —  "  Yes,  father,  let  us  go. 

Whence  came  my  No  abrupt,  I  could  not  say ; 

It  was  a  sudden  freak,  and  what  it  meant 

You  know  as  well  as  I.     Shall  we  get  ready  ? " 

"Ay,  such  a  perfect  day  is  rare ;  it  seems 

To  bring  heaven  nearer  to  my  understanding  ; 

Life,  life  itself  is  joy  enough  !  to  be,  — 

To  breathe  this  ether,  see  that  arch  of  blue, 

Is  happiness."  — "  But 't  is  the  soul  that  makes  it ; 

What  would  it  be,  my  father,  without  love  ?  " 

"  Ay,  without  love,  love  human  and  divine, 

No  atmosphere  of  real  joy  can  be." 

Not  long  the  time  mother  and  daughter  needed 
To  don  their  simple,  neat  habiliments. 


Paradise  Found.  103 

A  postman  handed  Percival  a  letter 

As  they  descended  from  the  door  to  take 

The  carriage  that  would  bear  them  to  the  station  ; 

For  they  must  go  by  rail  some  twenty  miles 

To  reach  this  paradise  of  Percival's. 

When  they  were  in  the  cars,  and  these  in  motion, 
Percival  drew  the  letter  from  his  pocket, 
And,  while  he  read,  a  strange  expression  stole 
Over  his  features.     "  Now  what  is  it,  father  ? " 
Then  with  a  sigh  which  her  quick  ear  detected 
As  one  that  masked  a  pleasurable  thought, 
He   said:    "Poor   little    Linda!"  —  "And   why 

poor  ? " 

"  Because  she  will  not  be  so  rich  again 
In  wishes  unfulfilled.     That  grand  piano 
You  saw  at  Chickering's  —  what  was  the  price  ?  " 
" Twelve  hundred  dollars  only."  --  "  It  is  yours ! 
That  painting  you  admired  so  —  that  by  Church  — 
What  did  they  ask  for  it  ? "   -  "  Two  thousand 

dollars." 


104  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

"  'T  is  cheap  at  that.  We  '11  take  it.  Whose  turn 
out 

Was  it  that  struck  your  fancy  ?  "  —  "  Miss  Van 
Hagen's ! " 

"  Well,  you  shall  have  one  like  it,  only  better. 

Look  !  What  a  charming  cottage  !  How  it  stands, 

Fronting  the  water,  flanked  by  woods  and  gar 
dens! 

For  sale,  I  see.     We  '11  buy  it.     No,  that  house 

Yonder  upon  the  hill  would  suit  us  better  ; 

Our  coachman's  family  shall  have  the  cottage." 

"  What  is  it  all,  my  father  ?     You  perplex  me," 

Said  Linda,  with  a  smile  of  anxious  wonder. 

"  In  brief,  my  little  girl,"  said  Percival, 

"  You  're  grown  to  be  an  heiress.    Let  your  mother 

Take  in  that  letter.     Read  it  to  her,  Linda." 

It  was  a  letter  from  executors 

Of  the  late  Arthur  Kenrick,  making  known 

That  in  his  several  large  bequests  was  one 

Of  a  full  million,  all  to  Percival. 


Paradise  Found.  105 

The  mother's  heart  flew  to  the  loved  ones  gone ; 

She  sighed,  but  not  to  have  them  back  again  ; 

That  were  a  wish  too  selfish  and  profane. 

And  then,  the  first  surprise  at  length  allayed, 

Calmly,  but  not  without  a  natural  joy 

At  being  thus  lifted  to  an  affluent  lot, 

The    three  discussed  their  future.     Should  they 

travel ? 

Or  should  they  choose  some  rural  site,  and  build  ? 
Paradise  Found  would  furnish  a  good  site  ! 
Now  they  could  help  how  many  !     Not  aloof 
From  scenes  of  destitution  had  they  kept  : 
What  joy  to  aid  the  worthy  poor  !     To  save 
This  one  from  beggary  !     To  give  the  means 
To  that  forsaken  widow,  overworked, 
With  her  persistent  cough,  to  make  a  trip, 
She  and  her  children,  city-pinched  and  pale, 
To  some  good  inland  farm,  and  there  recruit ! 
Many  the  plans  for  others  they  conceived ! 
Many  the  joyful  — 


io6  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Ah  !  a  shivering  crash  ! 

A  whirl  of  splintered  wood  and  loosened  iron  ! 
Then  shrieks  and  groans  of  pain  .... 

A  broken  rail 

Had  done  it  all.    Now  for  the  killed  and  wounded ! 
Ghastly  the  spectacle  !     And  happy  those 
Whom  Death  had  taken  swiftly  !     Linda's  mother 
Was  one  of  these  —  a  smile  upon  her  lips, 
But    her    breast    marred  —  peacefully    she    had 

passed. 

Percival's  wound  was  mortal,  but  he  strove, 
Amid  the  jar  of  sense,  to  fix  his  mind 
On  one  absorbing  thought  —  a  thought  for  Linda  : 
For  she,  though  stunned,  they  told  him,  would 

survive, 

Motherless,  though  —  soon  to  be  fatherless ! 
And  something  —  ah  !    what  was  it  ?  —  must  be 

done, 

Done,  too,  at  once.     "  O  gentlemen,  come  here  ! 
Paper  and  pen  and  ink  !     Quick,  quick,  I  pray 

you ! 


Paradise  Found.  107 

No  matter  !     Come  !     A  pencil  —  that  will  do. 
Help  me  to  make  a  will  —  I  do  bequeathe  — 
Where  am   I  ?     What  has  happened  ?     God  be 

with  me  ! 

Yes,  I  remember  now  —  the  will !  the  will ! 
No  matter  for  the  writing  !     Witness  ye 
That  I  bequeathe,  convey,  and  hereby  give 
To  this  my  only  child,  named  Linda  —  Linda  — 
God  !     What 's  my  name  ?     Where  was  I  ?     Per- 

cival 

To  Linda  Percival  —  Is  this  a  dream  ? 
What  would  I  do  ?     My  heart  is  drowned  in  blood. 
God  help  me.     Linda—  Linda  !  " 

Then  he  died  ; 

And,  chasing  from  his  face  that  glare  of  anguish, 
Came  a  smile  beatific  as  if  angels 
Had  soothed  his  fears  and  hushed  him  into  calm. 

Her  father  s  cry  was  all  unheard  by  Linda, 
Or  by  her  mortal  senses  all  unheard. 


io8  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Perhaps  a  finer  faculty,  removed 

From  the  external  consciousness  afar, 

Took  it  all  in  ;  for  when  she  woke  at  last 

To  outward  life,  and  looking  round  beheld 

No  sign  of  either  parent,  she  sank  back 

Into  a  trance,  and  lay  insensible 

For  many  hours.     Then  rallying  she  once  more 

Seemed  conscious ;  and  observing  the  kind  looks 

Of  an  old  woman  and  a  man  whose  brow 

Of  thought  contrasted  with  his  face  of  youth, 

She  calmly  said  :  "  Don't  fear  to  tell  me  all  ; 

I  think  I  know  it  all  ;  an  accident 

With  loss  of  life  ;  my  father  and  my  mother 

Among  —  among   the   killed.      Enough !      Your 

silence 

Explains  it  now.     So  leave  me  for  a  while. 
Should  I  need  help,  I  '11  call.    You  're  very  good." 

When  they  returned,  Linda  was  sitting  up 
Against  the  pillow  of  the  bed  ;  her  hands 


Paradise  Found.  109 

Folded  upon  her  breast ;  her  open  eyes 
Tearless  and  glazed,  as  if  celestial  scenes, 
Clear  to  the  inner,  nulled  the  outer  vision. 
The    man    drew    near,   touched    her    upon   the 

brow, 

And  said,  "  My  name  is  Henry  Meredith." 
She  started,  and,  as  on  an  April  sky 
A  cloud  is  riven,  and  through  the  sudden  cleft 
The  sunshine  darts,  even  so  were  Linda  s  eyes 
Flooded  with  conscious  lustre,  and  she  woke. 

It  was  a  neatly  furnished  cottage  room 
In  which  she  lay,  and  nodding  eglantine, 
With  its  sweet-scented  foliage  and  rath  roses, 
Rustled  and  shimmered  at  the  open  window. 
"  How   long   have    I   been   lying   here  ? "    asked 

Linda. 

"  Almost  two  days,"  said  Meredith.  —  "  Indeed  ! ' 
I  read,  sir,  what  you  'd  ask  me,  in  your  looks  ; 
And  to  the  question  on  your  mind  I  answer, 


no  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

If  all  is  ready,  let  the  funeral  be 

This  afternoon.     Ay,  in  the  village  ground 

Let  their  remains  be  laid.     The  services 

May  be  as  is  convenient."     "  Of  what  faith 

Were  they?"  — "The  faith  of  Christ."  —  "  But 

that  is  vague. 
The   faith   of   Christ?      Mean  you   the   faith  in 

Christ  ? 
Faith  in  the  power  and  need  of  his  atonement  ? " 

"  All  that  I  mean  is,  that  they  held  the  faith 

Which  was  the  faith  of  Christ,  as  manifest 

In  his  own  words,  unwrenched  by  others'  words. 

So  to  no  sect  did  they  attach  themselves  ; 

But  from  all  sects  drew  all  the  truth  they  could 

In  charity ;  believing  that  when  Christ 

Said  of  the  pure  in  heart,  'They  shall  see  God/ 

He  meant  it ;  spoke  no  fragment  of  a  truth  ; 

Deferred  no  saying,  qualifying  that ; 

Set  no  word-trap  for  unsuspecting  souls  ; 


Paradise  Found.  m 

Spoke  no  oracular,  ambiguous  phrase, 
Intending  merely  the  vicarious  pure  ; 
Reserved  no  strange  or  mystical  condition 
To  breed  fine  points  of  doctrine,  or  confound 
The  simple-minded  and  the  slow  of  faith. 
Heart-purity  and  singleness  and  love, 
Fertile  in  loving  acts,  sole  proof  of  these, 
Summed  up  for  them,  my  father  and  my  mother, 
All  nobleness,  all  duty,  all  salvation, 
And  all  religion." 

With  a  heavy  sigh 

Meredith  turned  away.     " I'll  not  discuss 
Things  of  such   moment   now/'  said  he.     "  One 

rock, 

One  only  rock,  amid  the  clashing  waves 
Of  human  error,  have  I  found,  —  the  rock 
On  which  Christ  built  his  Church.     Heaven  show 

you  it ! " 

"  Heaven  show  me  truth  !  let  it  be  on  the  rock, 
Or  in  the  sand.     You  '11  say  Amen  to  that  ? " 


ii2  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

"  I  say  Amen  to  what  the  Church  approves, 
For  I  myself  am  weak  and  fallible, 
Depraved  by  nature,  reprobate  and  doomed, 
And  ransomed  only  by  the  atoning  blood 
Of  a  Redeemer  more  divine  than  human. 
But  controversy  is  not  timely  now : 
The  papers,  jewels,  money,  and  what  clothes 
Could  properly  be  taken,  you  will  find 
In  a  small  trunk  of  which  this  is  the  key. 
At  three  o'clock  the  carriage  will  be  ready." 

Linda  put  forth  her  hand ;  he  gravely  took  it, 
And  holding  it  in  both  of  his  the  while, 
Said  :  "  Should  you  lack  a  friend,  remember  me. 
I  was  a  witness  to  your  father's  death. 
Your  mother  must  have  died  without  a  pang. 
He,  by  a  strenuous  will,  kept  death  at  bay 
A  minute,  and  his  dying  cry  was  Linda  ! 
Hardly  can  he  have  felt  his  sufferings, 
Such  the  intentness  of  his  thought  for  you  !  " 


Paradise  Found.  113 

The  fount  of  tears  was  happily  struck  at  last, 
And  Linda  wept  profusely.     Meredith 
Quitted  the  room  ;  but  the  old  woman  sat 
Beside  the  bed,  her  thin  and  shrunken  fingers 
Hiding  themselves  in  Linda's  locks  of  gold, 
Or  with  a  soothing  motion  parting  them 
From  a  brow  fine  and  white  as  alabaster. 
At  length,  like  a  retreating  thunder-storm, 
The  sobs  grew  faint  and  fainter,  and  then  ceased. 

After  a  pause,  said  Linda  to  the  lady, 

"  Is  he  your  grandson  ? "  —  "  Ay,  my  only  one  ; 

A  noble  youth,  heir  to  a  splendid  fortune  ; 

A  scholar,  too,  and  such  a  gentleman  ! 

Young ;  ay,  not  twenty-four  !    What  a  career, 

Would  he  but  choose  !    Society  is  his, 

To  cull  from  as  he  would.     He  throws  by  all, 

To  be  a  poor  tame  priest,  and  take  confessions 

Of  petty  scandals  and  delinquencies 

From  a  few  Irish  hussies  and  old  women ! " 

H 


H4  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

"  We  all,"  said  Linda,  "  hear  the  voice  of  duty 

In  different  ways,  and  many  not  at  all. 

Honor  to  him  who  heeds  the  sacred  claim 

At  any  cost  of  life's  amenities 

And  tenderest  ties  !    We  see  the  sacrifice  ;  — 

We  cannot  reckon  up  the  nobleness 

It  called  for,  and  must  call  for  to  the  end." 


V. 

LINDA. 

nr^HE  news  of  the  great  railroad  accident 

And  of  the  sudden  death  of  Percival, 
Coming  so  soon  upon  intelligence 
Of  his  rare  fortune  in  the  legacy 
From  Kenrick,  occupied  the  public  mind 
For  a  full  day  at  least,  and  then  was  whelmed 
In  other  marvels  rushing  thick  upon  it. 
The  mother  and  the  daughter,  who  still  bore 
The  name  of  Percival,  came  back  from  Paris 


The   Woman  who  Dared. 

At  once,  on  getting  the  unlooked-for  news. 
When  Linda,  after  three  weeks  had  elapsed, 
Re-entered,  with  a  swelling  heart,  the  house 
To  her  so  full  of  sacred  memories, 
She  was  accosted  by  an  officer 
Who  told  her  he  had  put  his  seal  on  all 
The  papers,  plate,  and  jewelry  belonging 
To  the  late  Albert  Percival,  —  and  asked 
If  in  her  keeping  were  a  watch  and  ring, 
Also  some  money,  found  upon  his  person  : 
If  so,  would  she  please  give  them  up,  and  he, 
Who  had  authority  to  take  them,  would 
Sign  a  receipt  for  all  such  property, 
And  then  the  rightful  heir  could  easily 
Dispose  of  it,  as  might  seem  best  to  her. 

"  The  rightful  heir  ?  "  gasped  Linda,  taking  in 
Not  readily  the  meaning  of  the  words,  — 
"  Do  you  not  know  that  I  'm  the  rightful  heir 
And  only  child  of  Albert  Percival  ? " 


Linda.  117 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  officer,  "  the  child, 
Recognized  by  the  law,  is  not  yourself, 
But  Harriet  Percival,  the  only  heir,  — 
For  so  the  court  adjudges,  —  and  to  her 
All  property,  both  personal  and  real, 
Must  be  made  over.     She,  no  doubt,  will  deal 
Kindly  in  your  peculiar  case,  and  make 
A  suitable  provision  —  " 

"  Hold  ! "  cried  Linda, 

Her  nostrils'  action  showing  generous  blood 
As  clearly  as  some  matchless  courser  shows  it 
After  a  mighty  race,  —  "  Your  business, 
But  not  your  comments  !     And  yet,  pardon  me  — 
I  'm  hasty,  —  you  meant  well ;    but  you   would 

have  me 

Render  you  up  the  watch  and  pocket-book 
Found  on  my  father's  person,  and  delivered 
To  me  his  daughter.     That  I  '11  only  do, 
When  more  authority  than  you  have  shown 
Compels  me,  and  my  lawyer  bids  me  yield." 


n8  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

"  Here  is  my  warrant,"  said  the  officer, 

"And  my  instructions  are  explicit."     Then, 

The  spirit  of  the  gentleman  disdaining 

The  action  he  was  sent  for,  he  rejoined : 

"  But  the  law's  letter  shall  not  make  me  do 

An  incivility,  perhaps  a  wrong. 

And  so,  relying  on  your  truth,  I  leave  you, 

Assured  that  you  '11  be  ready  to  respond 

To  all  the  law  can  ask.     And  now,  good  day ! " 

Left  to  her  own  decisions,  Linda  sought 

At  once  the  best  advice  ;  and  such  had  been 

Her  training,  that  she  was  not  ignorant 

Who  among  counsellors  were  trusted  most 

In  special  ways.     Kindly  and  patiently 

Her  case  was  taken  up  and  thoroughly 

Sifted  and  tried.     No  hope  !    No  flaw  !    No  case  ! 

So  craftily  had  every  step  been  taken, 

With  such  precaution  and  such  legal  care,  — 

So  diligently  had  the  mesh  been  woven, 


Linda.  119 

Enclosing  Percival  and  all  of  his,  — 

That  nothing  could  be  done  except  put  off 

The  payment  of  the  Kenrick  legacy 

For  some  six  months,  —  when  it  was  all  made 

over 

To  the  reputed  child,  already  rich 
Through  the  law's  disposition  of  the  sums 
Which  Percival  had  been  compelled  to  pay. 

After  the  legal  test,  with  brave  composure 
Linda  surveyed  her  lot.     Enough  was  left, 
From  sale  of  jewels  that  had  been  her  mother's, 
For  a  few  months'  support,  with  frugal  care. 
Claim  to  these  jewels  and  the  money  found 
Upon  her  mother's  person  had  been  laid 
Too  eagerly  by  the  contesting  party, 
Who  said  that  Percival,  in  dying  last, 
Was  heir  to  the  effects ;  but  since  the  claim 
Could  only  be  upheld  by  proving  marriage, 
The  claimants  sorrowfully  gave  it  up. 


I2O  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

One  day  as  Linda  stood  with  folded  hands 
Before  her  easel,  on  which  lay  a  painting 
Of  flowers  autumnal,  grouped  with  rarest  skill,  — 
The  blue-fringed  gentian,  the  red  cardinal, 
With  fern  and  plumy  golden-rod  intwined,  - 
A  knock  aroused  her,  and  the  opened  door 
Disclosed  a  footman,  clad  in  livery, 
Who,  hat  in  hand,  asked  if  a  lady  might 
Come  up  to  see  the  pictures.     "  Certainly," 
Was  the  reply ;  and,  panting  up  the  stairs, 
A  lady  came  whose  blazonry  of  dress 
And  air  of  self-assured,  aggressive  wealth 
Spoke  one  well  pleased  to  awe  servility. 

As  when  by  some  forecasting  sense  the  dove 
Knows  that  the  hawk,  though  out  of  sight  and 

still, 

Is  hovering  near,  even  so  did  Linda  feel 
An  enemy  draw  nigh  ;  felt  that  this  woman, 
Who,  spite  of  marks  a  self-indulgent  life 


Linda.  121 

Leaves  on  the  face,  showed  vestiges  of  beauty, 
Was  she  who  first  had  cast  the  bitterness 
Into  that  cup  of  youth  which  Linda's  father 
Was  made  to  taste  so  long. 

And  yet  (how  strangely, 
In  this  mixed  web  of  life,  the  strands  of  good 
Cross  and  inweave  the  evil ! )  to  that  wrong 
Might  he  have  tracked  a  joy  surpassing  hope, — 
The  saving  angel  who,  in  Linda's  mother, 
Had  so  enriched  his  being  ;  —  might  have  tracked 
(Mysterious  thought ! )  Linda  herself,  his  child, 
The  crown  of  every  rapture,  every  hope 

The  lady,  known  as  Madame  Percival, 
Seated  herself  and  turned  a  piercing  look 
On  Linda,  who  blenched  not,  but  stood  erect, 
With  calm  and  serious  look  regarding  her. 
The  lady  was  the  first  to  lower  her  eyes  ; 
She  then,  with  some  embarrassment,  remarked: 
"  So  !  you  're  an  artist !     Will  you  let  me  see 
6 


122  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Some  of  your  newest  paintings  ?"     Linda  placed 
Three  of  her  choicest  pieces  on  the  easel, 
And  madame  raised  her  eyeglass,  looked  a  moment, 
Said,  "Very  pretty,"  and  then,  breaking  through 
Further  constraint,  began :  "  You  may  not  know 

me  ; 

My  name  is  Percival ;  you,  I  suppose, 
Bear  the  same  name  by  courtesy.     'T  is  well : 
The  law  at  last  has  taught  you  possibly 
Our  relative  positions.     Of  the  past 
We  will  say  nothing ;  no  hard  thought  is  left 
Against  you  in  my  heart ;  I  trust  I  know 
The  meaning  of  forgiveness  ;  what  is  due 
To  Christian  charity.     In  me,  although 
The  church  has  but  a  frail,  unworthy  child, 
Yet  would  I  help  my  enemy  ;  remove  her 
From  doubtful  paths,  and  see  her  fitly  placed 
With  her  own  kindred  for  protection  due. 
Hear  my  proposal  now,  in  your  behalf : 
If  you  will  go  to  England,  where  your  aunts 


Linda.  123 

And  relatives  reside,  —  and  first  will  sign 

A  paper  promising  you  '11  not  return, 

And  that  you  never  will  resume  your  suit,  — 

I  will  advance  your  passage-money,  and 

Give  you  five  thousand  dollars.     Will  you  do  it  ? " 

The  indignant  No,  surging  in  Linda's  heart, 
Paused  as  if  language  were  too  weak  for  it, 
When,  in  that  pause,  the  opening  of  the  door 
Disclosed  a  lady  younger  than  the  first, 
Yet  not  unlike  in  features,  though  no  blonde, 
And  of  a  figure  small  and  delicate. 
"  Now,  Harriet !"  cried  the  elder  of  the  two, 
Annoyed,  if  not  alarmed,  "you  promised  me 
You  would  not  quit  the  carriage."  —  "  Well,  what 

then  ? 

I  changed  my  mind.    Is  that  a  thing  uncommon  ? 
Whom  have  we  here  ?     The  name  upon  the  door 
Is  Percival ;  and  there  upon  the  wall 
I  see  a  likeness  of  my  father.     So  ! 


124  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

You,  then,  are  Linda  Percival !  the  child 

For  whom  he  could  abandon  me,  his  first ! 

Come,  let  me  look  at  you ! "  —  "  Nay,  Harriet, 

This  should  not  be.  Come  with  me  to  the  car 
riage  ; 

Come  !  I  command  you."  —  "  Pooh  !  And  pray, 
who  cares 

For  your  commands  ?     I  move  not  till  I  please. 

We  are  half-sisters,  Linda,  but  I  hate  you." 

"  Excuse  me,"  Linda  answered  quietly, 

"  But  I  see  no  resemblance  to  my  father 

In  you.     Your  features,  form,  complexion,  all 

Are  quite  unlike." — "  Silence !  We  Ve  had  enough." 

"What  did  she  say?"    cried  Harriet.     "Do  not 

heed 

A  word  of  hers  ;  leave  her  and  come  with  me." 
"  She  said,  I  bear  no  likeness  to  my  father : 
You  heard  her  !  "  —  "'T  was  in  malice,  Harriet. 
Of  course  she  would  say  that."  —  "  But  I  must  have 


Linda.  125 

That  photograph  of  him  upon  the  wall : 
T  is  unlike  any  that  I  've  ever  seen." 
And  with  the  word  she  took  it  from  the  nail 
And  would  have  put  it  in  her  pocket,  had  not 
Linda,  with  sudden  grasp,  recovered  it. 

Darker  her  dark  face  grew,  when  Harriet 

Saw  herself  baffled  ;  taking  out  her  purse 

She  drew  from  it  a  thousand-dollar  bill, 

And  said,  "  Will  this  procure  it  ?  "  —  "  Harriet ! 

You  're  mad  to  offer  such  a  sum  as  that." 

"  Old  woman,  if  you  anger  me,  you  '11  rue  it ! 

I  ask  you,  Linda  Percival,  if  you 

Will  take  two  thousand  dollars  for  that  portrait  ?" 

And  Linda  answered  :  "  I  '11  not  take  your  money  : 

The  portrait  you  may  have  without  a  price ; 

I  'm  not  without  a  copy."  —  "  Well,  I  take  it ; 

But  mark  you  this  :  I  shall  not  hate  you  less 

For  this  compliance  ;  nay,  shall  hate  you  more  ; 

For  I  do  hate  you  with  a  burning  hatred, 


126  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

And  all  the  more  for  that  smooth  Saxon  face, 
With  its  clear  red  and  white  and  Grecian  outline ; 
That  likeness  to  my  father  (I  can  see  it), 
Those  golden  ringlets  and  that  rounded  form. 
Pray,  Madame  Percival,  where  did  I  get 
This  swarthy  hue,  since  Linda  is  so  fair, 
And  you  are  far  from  being  a  quadroon  ? 
Good  lady,  solve  the  riddle,  if  you  please." 

"  There  !    No  more  idle  questions  !    Two  o'clock  ? 
That  camel's  hair  at  Stewart's  will  be  sold, 
Unless  we  go  this  minute.     Such  a  bargain  ! 
Come,  my  dear,  come!"     And  so,  cajoling,  coax 
ing, 

She  drew  away  her  daughter,  and  the  door 
Closed  quickly  on  the  two.     But  Linda  stood 
In  meditation  rapt,  as  thought  went  back 
To  the  dear  parents  who  had  sheltered  her ; 
Contrasting  their  ingenuous  love  sincere 
And  her  own  filial  reverence,  with  the  scene 


Linda.  127 

She  just  had  witnessed.     So  absorbed  she  was 

In  visions  of  the  past,  she  did  not  heed 

The  opening  of  the  door,  until  a  voice 

Broke  in  upon  her  tender  revery, 

Saying,  "  I  Ve  come  again  to  get  your  answer 

To  my  proposal."     Tranquillized,  subdued 

By  those  dear,  sacred  reminiscences, 

Linda,  with  pity  in  her  tone,  replied  : 

"  Madame,  I  cannot  entertain  your  offer." 

"  And  why  not,  Linda  Percival  ?  "  exclaimed 

The  imperious  lady.  —  "  I  'm  not  bound  to  give 

My  reasons,  madame."  —  "  Come,  I  '11  make  the 

sum 

Ten  thousand  dollars."  —  "  Money  could  not  alter 
My  mind  upon  the  subject."  —  "  Look  you,  Linda  ; 
You  saw  my  daughter.     Obstinate,  self-willed, 
Passionate  as  a  wild-cat,  jealous,  crafty, 
Reckless  in  use  of  money  when  her  whims 
Are  to  be  gratified,  and  yet  at  times 
Sordid  as  any  miser,  —  she'll  not  stop 


128  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

At  artifice,  or  violence,  or  crime, 
To  injure  one  she  hates  —  and  you  she  hates ! 
Now  for  your  sake  and  hers,  I  charge  you  leave 
This  country,  go  to  England  ;  —  close  at  once 
With  my  most  liberal  offer." 

"  Madame,  no  ! 

This  is  my  home,  my  birthplace,  and  the  land 
Of  all  my  efforts,  hopes,  and  aspirations  ; 
While  I  have  work  to  do,  here  lies  my  field : 
I  cannot  quit  America.     Besides, 
Since  candor  now  is  best,  I  would  not  take 
A  dole  from  you  to  save  myself  from  starving." 
The  lady's  eyes  flashed  choler.     She  replied  : 
"  Go  your  own  gait ;    and,  when  you  're  on  the 

street, 

As  you  '11  be  soon,  blame  no  one  but  yourself. 
I  Ve  done  my  part.     Me  no  one  can  accuse 
Of  any  lack  of  charity  or  care. 
For  three  weeks  more  my  offer  shall  hold  good. 
After  that  time,  expect  no  further  grace." 


Linda.  I29 

And,  with  a  frown  which  tried  to  be  disdain, 
But  which,  rebuked  and  humbled,  fell  before 
The  pitying  candor  of  plain  Innocence, 
Out  of  the  room  she  swept  with  all  her  velvet. 

These  interviews  had  made  our  Linda  feel 
How  quite  alone  in  the  wide  world  she  stood. 
A  letter  came,  after  her  parents'  death, 
From  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Hammersley,  requesting 
A  loan  of  fifty  pounds,  and  telling  all 
The  family  distresses  and  shortcomings  : 
How  this  one's  husband  had  proved  not  so  rich 
As  was  expected  ;  how  another's  was 
A  tyrant  and  a  niggard,  so  close-fisted 
He  parcelled  out  with  his  own  hands  the  sugar 
For  kitchen  use  ;  and  how  another's  still, 
Though  amply  able  to  receive  their  mother, 
A  widow  now,  had  yet  refused  to  do  it, 
And  even  declined  to  make  a  contribution 
For  her  support.     And  so  the  gossip  ran. 

6*  I 


130  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

The  picture  was  not  pleasant.     With  a  sigh 

Not  for  herself,  but  others,  Linda  penned 

A  letter  to  her  aunt,  relating  all 

The  events  that  made  her  powerless  to  aid 

Her  needy  kinsfolk.     She  despatched  the  letter, 

Then  sat  and  thought  awhile. 

"And  now  for  duty ! " 

She  cried,  and  rose.     She  could  not  think  of  duty 
Except  as  something  grateful  to  her  parents. 
They  were  a  presence  so  securely  felt, 
And  so  related  to  her  every  act,  — 
Their  love  was  still  so  vigilant,  so  real, 
That  to  do  what,  and  only  what,  she  knew 
They  would  approve,  was  duty  paramount  ; 
And  their  approval  was  the  smile  of  God  ! 
Self-culture,  work,  and  needful  exercise,  — 
This  was  her  simple  summing-up  of  duties 
Immediately  before  her,  and  to  be 
Fulfilled  without  more  parleying  or  delay. 
She  found  that  by  the  labor  of  a  month 


Linda.  1 3 1 

In  painting  flowers  from  nature,  she  could  earn 
Easily  sixty  dollars.     This  she  did 
For  two  years  steadily.     Then  came  a  change. 
From    some   cause   unexplained,  her  wild-flower 

sketches, 

Which  from  their  novelty  and  careful  finish 
At  first  had  found  a  ready  sale,  were  now 
In  less  demand.     Linda  was  not  aware 
That  these  elaborate  works,  to  nature  true, 
Had  been  so  multiplied  in  copies,  made 
By  hand,  or  printed  by  the  chromo  art, 
As  to  be  sold  at  prices  not  one  fifth 
As  high  as  the  originals  had  cost. 
Hence  her  own  genius  winged  the  storm  and  lent 
The  color  to  the  cloud,  that  overhung 
Her  prospect,  late  so  hopeful  and  serene. 

Now  came  her  year  of  struggle  !     Narrow  means, 
Discouragement,  the  haunting  fear  of  debt ! 
One  summer  day,  a  day  reminding  her 


132  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Of  days  supremely  beautiful,  immortal, 

(Since  hallowed  by  undying  love  and  joy), 

A  little  girl,  the  step-child,  much  endeared, 

Of  a  poor  artisan  who  dwelt  near  by 

On  the  same  floor  with  Linda,  came  to  her 

And  said  :  "  You  promised  me,  Miss  Percival, 

That  some  fine  day  you  'd  take  me  in  the  cars 

Where  I  could  see  the  grass  and  pluck  the  flowers." 

"Well,  Rachel  Aiken,  we  will  go  to-day, 

If  you  will  get  permission  from  your  father," 

Said  Linda,  longing  for  the  woodland  air. 

Gladly  the  father  gave  consent ;  and  so, 

Clad  in  her  best,  the  little  damsel  sat, 

While  Linda  filled  the  luncheon-box,  and  made 

The  preparations  needful. 

"  What  is  that  ? " 

Asked  Rachel,  pointing  to  an  open  drawer 
In  which  a  case  of  polished  ebony 
Glittered  and  caught  the  eye.     "  A  pistol-case  ! " 
"And  is  the  pistol  loaded  ? "  —  "  I  believe  so." 


Linda.  133 

"  And  will  you  take  it  with  you  ? "  —  "  Well,  my 

dear, 

I  did  not  think  to  do  so  :  would  you  have  me  ?  " 
"  Yes,  if  we  're  going  to  the  woods  ;  for  panthers 
Lurk  in  the  woods,  you  know."  —  "I  '11  take  it, 

Rachel ; 

We  call  this  a  revolver.     See  !     Four  times 
I  can  discharge  it."     At  a  block  of  wood 
She  aimed  and  fired  ;  then  carefully  reloaded 
The  piece,  and  put  it  in  a  hidden  pocket. 

Some  ten  miles  from  the  city,  at  a  place 

Rich  in  diversity  of  wood  and  water, 

They  left  the  cars.     Rachel's  delight  was  wild. 

Never  was  day  so  lovely  !     Never  grass 

So  green  !      And  O  the  flowers !     "  Look,  only 

look, 

Miss  Percival !     What  is  it  ?     Can  I  pluck 
As  many  as  I  want  ?  "  —  "  Ay,  that 's  a  harebell." 
"  And  O,  look  here  !     This  red  and  yellow  flower ! 


134  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Tell  me  its  name."  —  "A  columbine.     It  grows 

In  clefts  of  rocks.     That 's  an  anemone  : 

We  call  it  so  because  the  leaves  are  torn 

So  easily  by  the  wind  ;  for  anemos 

Is  Greek  for  wind."  --  "  Oh  !    here  's  a  buttercup  ! 

I  know  that  well.     Red  clover,  too,  I  know. 

Is  n't  the  dandelion  beautiful  ? 

And  O,  Miss  Percival,  what  flower  is  this  ? " 

"  That  's  a  wild  rose."  —  "  What,  does  the  rose 

grow  wild  ? 

But  is  not  that  delightful  ?     A  wild  rose  ! 
And  I  can  take  as  many  as  I  want  ! 
I  did  not  dream  the  country  was  so  fine. 
How  very  happy  must  the  children  be 
Who  live  here  all  the  time  !     T  is  better  far 
Than  any  garden  ;  for,  Miss  Percival, 
The  flowers  are  here  all  free,  and  quite  as  pretty 
As  garden  flowers.     O,  hark  !     Did  ever  bird 
So  sweetly  sing  ?  "  —  "  That  was  a  wood-thrush, 

dear." 


Linda.  135 

"  O  darling  wood-thrush  !     Do  not  stop  so  soon  ! 
Look  there,  on  that  stone  wall !      What 's  that  ?  " 

—  "A  squirrel." 

Is  that  indeed  a  squirrel  ?     Are  you  sure  ? 
How  I  would  like  a  nut  to  throw  to  him  ! 
What  are  these  little  red  things  in  the  grass  ? " 
"  Wild  strawberries,  my  dear."  —  "  Wild  straw 
berries  ! 

And  can  I  eat  them  ? "  —  "  Yes,  we  '11  take  a  plate 
And  pick  it  full,  and  eat  them  with  our  dinner." 
"  O,  will  not  that  be  nice  ?     Wild  strawberries 
That  we  have  picked  ourselves  !  " 

And  so  the  day 

Slid  on  to  noon  ;  and  then,  it  being  hot, 
They  crossed  a  wall  into  a  skirting  wood, 
And  there  sat  down  upon  a  rocky  slab 
Covered  with  dry  brown  needles  of  the  pine, 
And  ate  their  dinner  while  the  birds  made  music. 
"  'T  is  a  free  concert,  ours ! "  said  Rachel  Aiken : 
"  How  nice  this  dinner  !     What  an  appetite 


136  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

I  'm  having  all  at  once  !     My  father  says 

That  I  must  learn  to  eat :  I  soon  could  learn 

In  such  a  place  as  this !     I  wish  my  father 

Himself  would  eat ;  he  works  too  hard,  I  fear  ; 

He  works  in  lead  :  and  the  lead  makes  him  ill. 

See  what  nice  clothes  he  buys  me  !     I  'm  afraid 

He  pays  for  me  more  than  he  can  afford, 

Seeing  he  has  a  mother  to  support 

And  a  blind  sister  ;  for,  Miss  Percival, 

I  'm  but  his  step-child,  and  my  mother  died 

Two  years  ago  ;  then  my  half-sister  died, 

His  only  little  girl,  and  now  he  says 

That  I  am  all  he  has  in  the  wide  world 

To  love  and  cherish  dearly,  —  all  his  treasure. 

What  would  I  give  if  I  could  bring  him  here 

To  these  sweet  woods,  away  from  lead  and  work ! " 

So  the  child  prattled.     Then,  the  gay  dessert 

Of  berries  being  ended,  Linda  sat 

On  the  rock's  slope,  and  peeled  the  mosses  off 


Linda.  137 

Or  looked  up  through  the  branches  of  the  pines 
At  the  sky's  blue,  while  Rachel  played  around. 
From  tree  to  tree,  from  flower  to  flower,  the  child 
Darted  through  leafy  lanes,  when,  all  at  once, 
A  scream  roused  Linda. 

To  her  feet  she  sprang ! 
Instinctively  (but  not  without  a  shudder) 
She  grasped  the  little  pistol  she  had  brought 
At  the  child's  prompting  ;  from  the  rock  ran  down, 
And,  at  a  sudden  bend,  encountered  three 
Young  lusty  ruffians,  while,  a  few  rods  off, 
Another  lifted  Rachel  in  his  arms, 
And  to  the  thicker  wood  beyond  moved  on. 
The  three  stood  side  by  side  as  if  to  bar 
The  path  to  Linda,  and  their  looks  meant  mis 
chief. 
The   lane   was   narrow.      "For  your   life,  make 

way  !  " 

She  cried,  and  raised  the  pistol.     "  No,  you  don't 
Fool  us  by  tricks  like  that ! "  the  foremost  said  : 


138  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

"  And  so,  my  lady  — '      But  before  the  word 
Was  out  there  was  a  little  puff  of  smoke, 
With  an  explosion,  not  encouraging,  — 
And  on  the  turf  the  frightened  caitiff  lay. 
Her  road  now  clear,  reckless  of  torn  alpaca, 
Over  the  scattered  branches  Linda  rushed, 
Till  she  drew  near  the  leader  of  the  gang, 
Who,  stopping,  drew  a  pistol  with  one  hand, 
While  with  the  other  he  held  Rachel  fast, 
Placing  her  as  a  shield  before  his  breast. 

But  Linda  did  not  waver.     Dropping  into 
The  old  position  that  her  father  taught  her 
When  to  the  shooting-gallery  they  went, 
She  fired.     An  oath,  the  cry  of  pain  and  rage, 
Told  her  she  had  not  missed  her  aim,  —  the  jaw 
The  ruffian  left  exposed.     One  moment  more, 
Rachel  was  in  her  arms.     Taking  a  path 
Transverse,  they  hit  the  public  road  and  entered 
The  railroad  station  as  the  train  came  in. 


Linda.  139 

When  they  were  safely  seated,  and  the  engine 
Began  to  throb  and  pant,  a  sudden  pallor 
Spread  over  Linda's  visage,  and  she  veiled 
Her  face  and  fainted  ;  yet  so  quietly, 
But  one  among  the  passengers  observed  it ; 
And  he  came  up,  and  taking  Rachel's  place 
Supported  Linda  ;  from  a  lady  near 
Borrowed  some  pungent  salts  restorative, 
And  finding  soon  the  sufferer  was  herself, 
Gave  Rachel  back  her  seat  and  took  his  own. 
But  at  the  city  station,  when  arrived, 
This  gentleman  came  up,  and  bowing,  said  : 
"  Here  stands  my  private  carriage  ;  but  to-day 
I  need  it  not     Let  my  man  take  you  home." 
Linda  demurred.     His  firm  will  urged  them  in, 
And  she  and  Rachel  all  at  once  were  riding 
With  easy  bowling  motion  down  Broadway. 

The  evening  papers  had  this  paragraph  : 

"  In  Baker's  Woods  this  morning  two  young  men 


J4°  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Were  fired  on  by  a  female  lunatic 

Without  a  provocation,  and  one  wounded. 

The  bullet  was  extracted.     Dr.  Payson, 

With  his  accustomed  skill  and  promptitude, 

Performed  the  operation  ;  and  the  patient 

Is  doing  well.     We  learn  the  unhappy  woman  — 

She  had  with  her  a  child  —  is  still  at  large." 

"I  'm  glad  it  was  no  worse,"  quoth  Linda,  smiling. 

She  kissed  the  pistol  that  had  been  her  mother's, 

Wiped  it,  and  reverently  put  it  by. 


Three  summers  and  an  autumn  had  rolled  on 
Since  the  catastrophe  that  orphaned  Linda. 
Midwinter  with  its  whirling  snow  had  come, 
And,    shivering    through    the    snow-encumbered 

streets 

Of  the  great  city,  men  and  women  went, 
Stooping  their  heads  to  thwart  the  spiteful  wind. 
The  sleigh-bells  rang,  boys  hooted,  and  policemen 
Told  each  importunate  beggar  to  move  on. 


Linda.  *4r 

In  a  side  street  where  Fashion  late  had  dwelt, 
But  which  the  up-town  movement  now  had  left 
A  street  for  journeymen  and  small  mechanics, 
Dress-makers,  masons,  farriers,  and  draymen, 
A  female  figure  might  be  seen  to  enter 
A  lodging-house,  and  passing  up  two  flights 
Unlock  a  door  that  showed  a  small  apartment 
Neat,  with  two  windows  looking  on  the  rear, 
A  small  recess  with  a  low,  narrow  bed, 
A  sofa,  a  piano,  and  three  chairs. 
'T  was  noon,  but  in  the  sky  no  cleft  of  blue 
Flashed  the  soft  love-light  like  a  lifted  lid. 

Clad  plainly  was  the  lady  we  have  followed,  — 

But  with  a  certain  grace  no  modiste's  art 

Could  have  contrived.     Youthful  she  was,  and  yet 

A  gravity  not  pertinent  to  youth 

Gave  to  her  face  the  pathos  of  that  look 

Which  a  too  early  thoughtfulness  imparts  ; 

And  this  was  Linda,  —  Linda  little  changed, 


i42  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Though  nearer  by  four  years  to  womanhood 
Than  when  we  parted  from  her  in  the  shadow 
Of  a  great  woe. 

Preoccupied  she  seemed 

Now  with  some  painful  thought,  and  in  a  slow, 
Half-automatic  manner  she  replenished 
With  scanty  bits  of  coal  her  little  stove  ; 
Then,  with  a  like  absorbed,  uncertain  air, 
Threw  off  her  cloak  and  bonnet,  and  sat  down  ; 
Motionless  sat  awhile  till  she  drew  forth 
A  pocket-book,  and  from  it  took  a  letter, 
And  read  these  words :  "  You  guaranteed  the  debt 
It  now  has  run  three  months,  and  if  to-morrow 
It  is  not  paid,  we  must  seek  legal  help." 
A  bill  of  wood  and  coal  for  Rachel's  father  — 
Some  twenty  dollars  only  !     And  yet  Linda 
Saw  not  the  way  to  pay  it  on  the  morrow. 
He,  the  poor  artisan,  on  whose  account 
She  had  incurred  the  liability, 
Lay  prostrate  with  a  malady,  his  last, 


Linda.  143 

In  the  small  room  near  by,  with  little  Rachel 
His  only  watcher.     What  could  Linda  do  ? 
At  length,  with  lips  compressed,  and  up  and  down 
Moving  her  head  as  if  to  give  assent 
To  some  resolve,  now  fixed,  she  took  her  seat 
At  the  piano,  —  from  her  childhood's  days 
So  tenderly  endeared,  and  every  chord 
Vibrating  to  some  memory  of  her  mother  ! 
"  Old  friend,"  —  she  sighed  ;  then  thought  awhile 
and  sang. 

i. 

Help  me,  dear  chords,  help  me  to  tell  in  song 
The  grief  that  now  must  say  to  you  Farewell  ! 
No  music  like  to  yours  can  ease  my  heart. 

n. 

An  infant  on  her  knee  I  struck  your  keys, 
And  you  made  sweet  my  earliest  lullaby  : 
From  you  I  thought  my  requiem  might  come. 

in. 

Hard  is  the  pang  of  parting,  but  farewell ! 
Harder  the  shame  would  be,  if  help  were  not ; 
Go,  but  your  tones  shall  thrill  forevermore. 


144  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

IV. 

Farewell !     And  O  my  mother,  dost  thou  hear  ? 
Farewell !     But  not  to  thoughts  forever  dear. 
Farewell,  but  not  to  love  —  but  not  to  thee  ! 

When  little  Rachel,  by  her  father  sent, 
Came  in  to  take  her  lesson  the  next  day, 
Behold,  no  instrument  was  in  the  room  ! 
What  could  it  mean  ?     "  We  must  give  up,"    said 

Linda, 

"  Our  music  for  a  little  while.     Perhaps 
I  soon  shall  have  my  dear  piano  back." 
Then  they  went  in  to  see  the  sufferer. 
A  smile  lit  up  his  face,  —  a  grateful  smile, 
That  lent  a  beauty  even  to  Disease, 
Pale,  thin,  and  hollow-eyed  : 

"  Is  not  the  air 
Quite  harsh  to-day?"  he  asked.     "A  searching 

air." 

"  So  I  supposed.     I  find  it  hard  to  breathe. 
Dear  lady  —  but  you  Ve  been  a  friend  indeed  ! 


Linda.  145 

In  my  vest-pocket  you  will  find  a  wallet. 
All  that  I  have  is  in  it.     Take  and  use  it. 
A  fellow-workman  brought  me  yesterday 
Fifty-two  dollars,  by  my  friends  subscribed  : 
Take  from  it  what  will  pay  for  coal  and  rent. 
To-morrow  some  one  of  my  friends  will  come 
To  see  to  what  the  morrow  may  require. 
You  Ve  done  so  much,  dear  lady,  I  refrain 
From  asking  more."  —  "  Ask  all  that  you  would 

have."     * 

"  My  little  Rachel  —  she  will  be  alone, 
All,  all  alone  in  this  wide,  striving  world  : 
An  orphan  child  without  a  relative  ! 
Could  you  make  interest  to  have  her  placed 
In  some  asylum  ?  "  —  "  Do  not  doubt  my  zeal 
Or  my  ability  to  have  it  done. 
And  should  good  fortune  come  to  me,  be  sure 
Rachel  shall  have  a  pleasant  home  in  mine." 
"  That 's  best  of  all.     Thank  you.     God  help  you 

both. 

7  j 


146  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Now,  Rachel,  say  the  little  prayer  I  taught  you. 
.  .  That  was  well  said.     Now  kiss  me  for  good 

night. 

That 's  a  dear  little  girl !     I  '11  tell  your  mother 
How  good  and  diligent  and  kind  you  are  ; 
How  careful,  too,  of  all  your  pretty  clothes  ; 
And  what  a  nurse  you  've  been,  —  how  true  and 

tender. 

Rachel,  obey  Miss  Percival.     Be  quick 
To    shun    all    evil.      Fly    from    heedless    play 
mates. 

Close  your  young  eyes  on  all  impurity. 
Cast  out  all  naughty  thoughts  by  holy  prayer. 
Love  only  what  is  good.     Ah  !  darling  child, 
I  hoped  to  shield  you  up  to  womanhood, 
But  God  ordains  it  otherwise.     May  He 
Amid  the  world's  thick  perils  be  your  Guide  ! 
There  !     Do  not  cry,  my  darling.     All  is  well. 
Sing  us  some  pious  hymn,  Miss  Percival." 
And  Linda,  with  wet  eyelids,  sang  these  words. 


Linda.  147 

i. 

Be  of  good  cheer,  O  Soul ! 

Angels  are  nigh  ; 
Evil  can  harm  thee  not, 

God  hears  thy  cry. 

ii. 
Into  no  void  shalt  thou 

Spring  from  this  clay  ; 
His  everlasting  arm 

Shall  be  thy  stay. 

in. 
Day  hides  the  stars  from  thee, 

Sense  hides  the  heaven 
Waiting  the  contrite  soul 

That  here  has  striven. 

IV. 

Soon  shall  the  glory  dawn 

Making  earth  dim  ; 
Be  not  disquieted, 

Trust  thou  in  Him  ! 


"  O,  thank  you  !     Every  word  is  true  —  I  know  it, 
Sense  hides  it  now,  but  has  not  always  hid. 


148  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Remember,  Rachel,  that  I  say  it  here, 
Weighing  my  words  :  I  know  it  all  is  true. 
God  bless  you  both.     I  'm  very,  very  happy. 
My  pain  is  almost  gone.     I  '11  sleep  awhile." 
Rachel  and  Linda  sat  an  hour  beside  him, 
Silently  watching.     Linda  then  arose 
And  placed  her  hand  above  his  heart :  't  was  still. 
Tranquilly  as  the  day-flower  shuts  its  leaves 
And  renders  up  its  fragrance  to  the  air, 
From  the  closed  mortal  senses  had  he  risen. 


One  day  the  tempter  sat  at  Linda's  ear : 

Sat  and  discoursed  —  so  piously  !  so  wisely  ! 

She  held  a  letter  in  her  hand  ;  a  letter 

Signed  Jonas  Fletcher.     Jonas  was  her  landlord  ; 

A  man  of  forty  —  ay,  a  gentleman  ; 

Kind  to  his  tenants,  liberal,  forbearing  ; 

Rich  and  retired  from  active  business  ; 

A  member  of  the  Church,  but  tolerant  ; 


Linda.  149 

A  man  sincere,  cordial,  without  a  flaw 

In  habits  or  in  general  character  ; 

Of  comely  person,  too,  and  cheerful  presence. 

Long  had  he  looked  on  Linda,  and  at  last 

Had  studied  her  intently  ;   knew  her  ways, 

Her  daily  occupations  ;  whom  she  saw, 

And  where  she  went      He  had  an  interest 

Beyond  that  of  the  landlord,  in  his  knowledge  ; 

The  letter  was  an  offer  of  his  hand. 

Of  Linda's  parentage  and  history 

He  nothing  knew,  and  nothing  sought  to  know. 

He  took  her  as  she  was  ;  was  well  content, 

With  what  he  knew,  to  run  all  other  risks. 

The  letter  was  a  good  one  and  a  frank  ; 

It  came  to  Linda  in  her  pinch  of  want, 

Discouragement,  and  utter  self-distrust 

And  thus  the  tempter  spoke  and  she  replied  : 

"You  're  getting  thin  ;  you  find  success  in  art 
Is  not  a  thing  so  easy  as  you  fancied. 


150  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Five  years  you  've  worked  at  what  you  modestly 
Esteem  your  specialty.     Your  specialty  ! 
As  if  a  woman  could  have  more  than  one,  — 
And  that  —  maternity  !     I  do  not  speak 
Of  the  six  years  you  gave  your  art  before 
You  strove  to  make  it  pay.     Methinks  you  see 
Your  efforts  are  a  failure.     What 's  the  end 
Of  all  your  toil  ?     Not  enough  money  saved 
For  the  redemption  of  your  pawned  piano  ! 
Truly  a  cheerful  prospect  is  before  you  : 
To  hear  your  views  would  edify  me  greatly." 

"  Yes,  I  am  thinner  than  I  was  ;  but  then 

I  can  afford  to  be  —  so  that 's  not  much. 

As  for  success  —  if  we  must  measure  that 

By  the  financial  rule,  't  is  small,  I  grant  you. 

Yes,  I  have  toiled,  and  lived  laborious  days, 

And  little  can  I  show  in  evidence  ; 

And  sometimes  —  sometimes,  I  arft  sick  at  heart, 

And  almost  lose  my  faith  in  woman's  power 


Linda.  151 

To  ^aint  a  rose,  or  even  to  mend  a  stocking, 

As  well  as  man  can  do.     What  would  you  have  ?  " 

"  Now  you  speak  reason.     Let  me  see  you  act  it ! 
Abandon  this  wild  frenzy  of  the  hour, 
That  would  leave  woman  free  to  go  all  ways 
A  man  may  go  !     Why,  look  you,  even  in  art, 
Most  epicene  of  all  pursuits  in  life, 
How  man  leaves  woman  always  far  behind  ! 
Give  up  your  foolish  striving  ;  and  let  Nature 
And  the  world's  order  have  their  way  with  you." 

"  Small  as  the  pittance  is,  yet  I  could  earn 
More,  ten  times,  by  my  brush  than  by  my  needle." 

"  Ah  !  woman's  sphere  is  that  of  the  affections.  F 
Ambition  spoils  her  —  spoils  her  as  a  woman." 

( 
"  Spoils  her  for  whom  ?  " 

"  For  man." 


i52  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

"  Then  woman's  errand 

Is  not,  like  man's,  self-culture,  self-advancement, 
But  she  must  simply  qualify  herself 
To  be  a  mate  for  man  :  no  obligation 
Resting  on  man  to  qualify  himself 
To  be  a  mate  for  woman  ?  " 

"  Ay,  the  man 

Lives  in  the  intellect ;  the  woman's  life 
Is  that  of  the  affections,  the  emotions  ; 
And  her  anatomy  is  proof  of  it." 

"  So  have  I  often  heard,  but  do  not  see. 

Some  women  have  I  known,  who  could  endure 

Surgical  scenes  which  many  a  strong  man 

Would  faint  at.     We  have  had  this  dubious  talk 

Of  woman's  sphere  far  back  as  history  goes  : 

'T  is  time  now  it  were  proved  :  let  actions  prove  it ; 

Let  free  experience,  education  prove  it ! 

Why  is  it  that  the  vilest  drudgeries 

Are  put  on  woman,  if  her  sphere  be  that 


Linda.  i$3 

Of  the  affections  only,  the  emotions  ? 

He  represents  the  intellect,  and  she 

The  affections  only  !     Is  it  always  so  ? 

Let  Malibran,  or  Mary  Somerville, 

De  Stael,  Browning,  Stanton,  Stowe,  Bonheur, 

Stand  forth  as  proof  of  that  cool  platitude. 

Use  other  arguments,  if  me  you  'd  move. 

Besides,  I  see  not  that  your  system  makes 

Any  provision  for  that  numerous  class 

To  whom  the  affections  are  an  Eden  closed,  — 

The  women  who  are  single  and  compelled 

To  drudge  for  a  precarious  livelihood  ! 

What  of  their  sphere  ?    What  of  the  sphere  of  those 

Who  do  not,  by  the  sewing  of  a  shirt, 

Earn  a  meal's  cost  ?     Go  tell  them,  when  they 

venture 

On  an  employment  social  custom  makes 
Peculiarly  a  man's,  —  that  they  become 
Unwomanly  !     Go  make  them  smile  at  that,  — 
Smile  if  they  Ve  not  forgotten  how  to  smile." 
7* 


154  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

"  I  see  that  you  're  befogged,  my  little  woman, 

Chasing  this  ignis  fatuus  of  the  day  ! 

Leave  it,  and  settle  down  as  woman  should. 

What  has  been  always,  must  be  to  the  end. 

Always  has  woman  been  subordinate 

In  mind,  in  body,  and  in  power,  to  man. 

Let  rhetoricians  rave,  and  theorists 

Spin  their  fine  webs,  —  bow  you  to  holy  Nature, 

And  plant  your  feet  upon  the  eternal  fact." 

"  The  little  lifetime  of  the  human  race 
You  call  —  eternity  !     The  other  day 
One  of  these  old  eternal  wrongs  was  ended 
Rather  abruptly  ;  yet  good  people  thought 
'T  was  impious  to  doubt  it  was  eternal. 
Because  abuses  have  existed  always, 
May  we  not  prove  they  are  abuses  still  ? 
If  for  antiquity  you  plead,  why  not 
Tell  us  the  harem  is  the  rule  of  nature, 
The  one  solution  of  the  woman  problem  ? " 


Linda.  i55 

"  Does  not  St.  Paul  - 

"  Excuse  me.     Beg  no  questions. 
St.  Paul  to  you  may  be  infallible, 
But  Science  is  so  unaccommodating, 
If  not  irreverent,  she  '11  not  accept 
His  ipse  dixit  as  an  axiom. 
Here,  in  our  civilized  society, 
Is  an  increasing  host  of  single  women 
Who  do  not  find  the  means  of  livelihood 
In  the  employments  you  call  feminine. 
What  shall  be  done  ?     And  my  reply  is  this  : 
/  Let  every  honest  calling  be  as  proper 
For  woman  as  for  man  ;  throw  open  all 

Varieties  of  labor,  skilled  or  rough, 
/ 
1  To  woman's  choice  and  woman's  competition. 

Let  her  decide  the  question  of  the  fitness. 
Let  her  rake  hay,  or  pitch  it,  if  she  'd  rather 

Do  that  than  scrub  a  floor  or  wash  and  iron. 
( 
And,  above  all,  let  her  equality 

Be  barred  not  at  the  ballot-box  ;  endow  her 


156  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

With  all  the  rights  a  citizen  can  claim  ; 

Give  her  the  suffrage  ;  let  her  have  —  by  right 

And  not  by  courtesy  —  a  voice  in  shaping 

The  laws  and  institutions  of  the  land. 

And  then,  if  after  centuries  of  trial, 

All  shall  turn  out  a  fallacy,  a  failure, 

The  social  scheme  will  readjust  itself 

On  the  old  basis,  and  the  world  shall  be 

The  wiser  for  the  great  experiment." 

"  But  is  sex  nothing  ?     Shall  we  recognize 
No  bounds  that  Nature  clearly  has  denned, 
Saying,  with  no  uncertain  tone,  to  one, 
Do  this,  and  to  the  other,  Do  thou  that  ? 
The  rearing  of  young  children  and  the  care 
Of  households,  —  can  we  doubt  where  these  be 
long  ? 

Woman  is  but  the  complement  of  man 
And  not  a  monstrous  contrariety. 
Co-worker  she,  but  no  competitor !  " 


Linda.  157 

"  All  true,  and  no  one  doubts  it !     But  why  doubt 

That  perfect  freedom  is  the  best  condition 

For  bringing  out  all  that  is  best  in  woman 

As  well  as  man  ?     Free  culture,  free  occasion, 

Higher  responsibility,  will  make 

A  higher  type  of  femininity, 

Ay,  of  maternal  femininity,  — 

Not  derogate  from  that  which  now  we  have, 

And  which,  through  laws  and  limitations  old, 

Is  artificial,  morbid,  and  distort, 

Except  where  Nature  works  in  spite  of  all. 

'  Woman  is  but  the  complement  of  man  ! ' 

Granted.    But  why  stop  there  ?    And  why  not  add, 

Man,  too,  is  but  the  complement  of  woman  ? 

And  both  are  free  !     And  Nature  never  meant, 

For  either,  harder  rule  than  that  of  Love, 

Intelligent,  and  willing  as  the  sun." 

"  Ah  !  were  men  angels,  women  something  more, 
Your  plan  might  work ;  but  now,  in  married  life, 


158  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

One  must  be  absolute  ;  and  who  can  doubt 
That  Nature  points  unerringly  to  man  ?  " 

"Then  Nature's  pointing  is  not  always  heeded. 
Marriage  should  be  a  partnership  of  equals  : 
But  now  the  theory  would  seem  to  be, 
Man's  laws  must  keep  the  weaker  sex  in  order ! 
Man  must  do  all  the  thinking,  even  for  woman ! 
I  don't  believe  it ;  woman,  too,  can  think, 
Give  her  the  training  and  the  means  of  knowl 
edge. 
'  O   no ! '    cries    man,    '  the    household    and   the 

child 

Must  claim  her  energies  ;  and  all  her  training 
Must  be  to  qualify  the  wife  and  mother : 
For  one  force  loses  when  another  gains, 
Since  Nature  is  a  very  strict  accountant ; 
And  what  you  give  the  thinker  or  the  artist, 
You  borrow  from  the  mother  and  the  wife.' 
With  equal  truth,  why  not  object  to  man 


Linda.  i59 

That  what  he  gives  the  judge  or  politician 
He  borrows  from  the  husband  and  the  father  ? 
The  wife  and  mother  best  are  qualified 
When  you  allow  the  woman  breadth  of  culture, 
Give  her  an  interest  in  all  that  makes 
The  human  being's  welfare,  and  a  voice 
In  laws  affecting  her  for  good  or  ill. 
To  '  suckle  fools  and  chronicle  small  beer ' 
Is  not  the  whole  intent  of  womanhood. 
Even  of  maternity  't  is  not  the  height 
To  produce  many  children,  but  to  have 
Such  as  may  be  a  blessing  to  their  kind. 
Let  it  be  woman's  pure  prerogative, 
/  Free  and  unswayed  by  man's  imperious  pleasure 
/  (Which  now  too  often  is  her  only  law), 
To  rule  herself  by  her  own  highest  instincts, 
As  her  own  sense  of  duty  may  approve,  — 
Holding  that  law  for  her  as  paramount 
Which  may  best  harmonize  her  whole  of  nature, 
Educe  her  individuality, 


160  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Not  by  evading  or  profaning  Nature, 
But  by  a  self-development  entire." 

"  Enough,  enough  !     Let  us  split  hairs  no  longer  ! 
You  hold  a  crumpled  letter  in  your  hand  ; 
You  know  the  writer  ;  you  esteem,  respect  him  ; 
And  you  Ve  had  time  to  question  your  own  heart. 
What  does  it  say?     You  blush,  —  you  hesitate, — 
That  's  a  good  symptom.     Now  just  hear  me  out  : 
If  culture  is  your  aim,  how  opportune 
A  chance  is  this  !     Affluence,  leisure,  study  ! 
Would  you  help  others  ?     He  will  help  you  do  it. 
Is  health  an  object  ?     Soon,  exempt  from  care, 
Or  cheered  by  travel,  shall  you  see  restored 
Your  early  bloom  and  freshness.     Would  you  find 
In  love  a  new  and  higher  life  ?     You  start ! 
Now  what 's  the  matter  ?     Do  not  be  a  fool,  — 
A  sentimentalist,  forever  groping 
After  the  unattainable,  the  cloudy. 
Come,  be  a  little  practical  ;  consider 


Linda.  161 

Your  present  state  :  look  on  that  row  of  nails 
Recipient  of  your  wardrobe  ;  see  that  bonnet, 
All  out  of  fashion  by  at  least  a  month  ; 
That  rusty  water-proof  you  call  a  cloak  ; 
Those  boots  with  the  uneven  heels  ;  that  pair 
Of  woollen  gloves  ;  this  whole  absurd  array, 
Where  watchful  Neatness  battles  Poverty, 
But  does  not  win  the  victory.     Look  there  ! 
Would  not  a  house  on  the  great  avenue 
Be  better  than  these  beggarly  surroundings  ? 
Since   you  're   heart-free,  why  not   at   once   say 
Yes?" 

"  Sweet  fluent  tempter,  there  you  hit  the  mark  ! 

Heart-free  am  I,  and  't  is  because  of  that 

You  're  not  entirely  irresistible. 

Your  plea  is  simply  that  which  lends  excuse 

To  the  poor  cyprian  whom  we  pass  in  scorn. 

I  Ve  done  my  utmost  to  persuade  myself 

That  I  might  love  this  man, — in  time  might  love  : 


1 62  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

But  all  my  arguments,  enforced  by  yours, 
Do  not  persuade  me.     I  must  give  it  up  !  " 

Never  was  No  administered  more  gently 
Or  more  decisively  than  in  her  answer 
To  the  proposal  in  the  crumpled  letter. 


Musing  before  a  picture  Linda  sat. 
"  In  my  poor  little  range  of  art,"  thought  she, 
"  I  feel  an  expert's  confidence  ;  I  know 
These  things  are  unexcelled  ;  and  yet  why  is  it 
They  do  not  bring  their  value  ?     Come,  I  '11  try 
Something  more  difficult,  —  put  all  my  skill, 
Knowledge,  and  work  into  one  little  piece." 
Bravely  she  strove  :  it  was  a  simple  scene, 
But  with  accessories  as  yet  untried, 
And  done  in  oil  with  microscopic  care  ; 
An  open  window  with  a  distant  landscape, 
And  on  the  window-sill  a  vase  of  flowers. 


Linda.  163 

It  was  a  triumph,  and  she  knew  it  was. 
"  Come,  little  housekeeper,"  she  said  to  Rachel, 
"  We  '11  go  and  seek  our  fortune."     So  she  put 
Under  her  arm  the  picture,  and  they  went 
To  show  it  to  the  dealer  who  had  bought 
Most  of  her  works.     But  on  her  way  she  met 
A  clerk  of  the  establishment,  who  said  : 
"  Come  into  Taylor's  here  and  take  an  ice  ; 
I  'd  like  to  tell  you  something  for  your  good." 

When  they  all  three  were  seated,  Brown  began  : 
"  You  may  not  see  me  at  the  store  again  ; 
For  a  ship's  cousin  wants  my  place,  and  so, 
With  little  ceremony,  I  'm  dismissed. 
Now,  if  you  Ve  no  objection,  tell  me  what 
The  old  man  gave  you  for  that  composition 
In  which  a  bird  —  a  humming-bird,  I  think  — 
Follows  a  child  who  has  a  bunch  of  flowers." 
"  Yes,  I  remember.     Well,  't  was  fifteen  dollars." 
"  Whew !     He  said  fifty.     Is  it  possible  ? 


1 64  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

You  Ve  seen  the  chromo  copy,  I  suppose  ? " 
"  The  chromo  ?    I  Ve  seen  nothing  of  a  chromo. 
Never  has  my  consent  been  given  to  publish  ! " 
"  That  's  little  to  the  purpose,  it  would  seem. 
A  hundred  thousand  copies  have  been  sold 
Of  all  your  pieces,  first  and  last.     You  stare  ?  " 
A  light  broke  in  on  Linda.     All  at  once 
The  mystery  that  hung  upon  her  strivings 
Lay  solved  ;  the  cloud  was  lifted  ;  and  she  saw 
That  all  this  while  she  had  not  weighed  her  tal 
ents 

In  a  false  balance  ;  had  not  been  the  dupe 
Of  her  own  aspirations  and  desires. 
With  eyes  elate  and  hope  up-springing  fresh 
In  her  glad  heart,  she  cried,  "And  are  you  sure?" 
"  'T  is  easily  confirmed.     Go  ask  the  printer  ; 
Only  my  number  is  below  the  mark." 

From  Brown,  then,  Linda  got  particulars, 
Showing  't  was  not  a  random  utterance. 


Linda.  165 

"  'T  is  strange,"  she  said,  "  that  I  Ve  not  seen  the 

chromos 

At  the  shop  windows."  —  "  Only  recently," 
Said  he,  "  have  they  been  sold  here  in  the  city  ; 
The  market  has  been  chiefly  at  the  West. 
The  old  man  thought  it  policy,  perhaps, 
To  do  it  on  the  sly,  lest  you  should  know. 
Well,  well,  in  that  bald  head  of  his  he  has 
A  mine !  "    Then  Linda  struck  the  bell,  and  said  : 
"  This  is  my  entertainment,  Mr.  Brown  ; 
Please  let  me  pay  for  it."     And  Brown's  "  O  no  " 
Was  not  so  wholly  irresistible 
That  Linda  did  not  have  her  way  in  this. 
They  parted. 

"  Why,  Miss  Percival,"  said  Rachel, 
"  You  look  precisely  as  you  did  that  day 
You  fired  the  pistol  in  the  woods,  —  you  do  ! 
I  watched  your  eye,  and  knew  you  would  not  fail." 
"  'T  is  to  bring  down  a  different  sort  of  game, 
We  now  go  forth."  —  "  But  you  forget  your  pistol." 


1 66  The '  Woman  who  Dared. 

"  This  time  we  shall  not  need  one.  Did  I  not 
Say  we  were  going  forth  to  seek  our  fortune  ? 
Well,  Rachel,  my  dear  child,  we  've  found  it,  — 

found  it." 

"  O,  I  'm  so  glad  !     (How  rapidly  you  walk  !) 
And  shall  we  have  the  old  piano  back  ?  " 
"  Ay,  that  we  shall !    And  you  shall  go  to-morrow 
And  take  a  present  to  the  poor  blind  aunt 
And  her  old  mother,  —  for  they  love  you  well." 
"  A  present !     Why,  Miss  Percival,  there  's  noth 
ing 

I  do  so  love  to  do  as  to  make  presents. 
I  Ve  made  three  in  my  lifetime  ;  one  a  ring 
Of  tortoise-shell ;  and  one  —  " 

But  here  they  entered 
A  picture-store.     A  man  who  stood  alert, 
With  thumbs  hooked  in  the  arm-holes  of  his  vest, 
Advanced  to  welcome  her.     The  "  old  man  "  he, 
Of  Brown's  narration  ;  not  so  very  old, 
However  ;  not  quite  thirty-five,  in  fact. 


Linda.  167 

The  capital  which  made  his  note  so  good 

Was  a  bald  head  ;  a  head  you  could  not  question  ; 

A  head  which  was  a  pledge  of  solvency, 

A  warrant  of  respectability  ! 

The  scalp  all  glossy  ;  tufts  above  the  ears  ! 

This  head  he  cultivated  carefully, 

And  always  took  his  hat  off  when  he  went 

To  ask  a  discount  or  to  clinch  a  bargain. 

"  Ah  !  my  young  friend,  Miss  Percival,"  he  cried, 

"  You  've  something  choice  there,  if  I  'm  not  mis 
taken." 

Linda  took  off  the  wrapper  from  her  picture 

And  showed  it. 

An  expression  of  surprise 

Came  to  the  "  old  man's  "  features  ;  but  he  hid  it 

By  making  of  his  hand  a  cylinder 

And  looking  through  it,  like  a  connoisseur. 

These  were  his  exclamations  :  "  Clever  !     Ay  ! 

Style   somewhat   new ;    landscape   a    shade   too 
bright ; 


1 68  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

The  sky  too  blue,  eh  ?     Still  a  clever  picture,  — 
One  of  your  best.     Shall  we  say  twenty  dollars  ?  " 
Taking  the  picture,  Linda  said,  "  Good  morning  ! 
I  'm  in  a  hurry  now,  and  you  '11  excuse  me." 
"  Will  you  not  leave  it  ? "  —  "  No,  I  'm  not  dis 
posed 

To  part  with  it  at  present."  —  "  Thirty  dollars 
Would  be  a  high  price  for  it,  but  to  aid  you 
I  '11  call  it  thirty."  —  "  Could  you  not  say  fifty  ? " 
"  You  're  joking  with  me  now,  Miss  Percival." 
"  Then  we  will  end  our  pleasantry.     Good  by." 
"  Stay  !     You  want  money  :  I  shall  be  ashamed 
To  let  my  partners  know  it,  but  to  show 
How  far  I  '11  go  for  your  encouragement  — 
Come  !     I  '11  say  fifty  dollars." 

The  "  old  man  " 

Lowered  his  head,  so  that  the  burnished  scalp 
Might  strike  her  eye  direct.     Impenetrable 
To  that  appeal,  Linda  said  :  "  I  can  get 
A  hundred  for  it,  I  believe.     Good  day  !" 


Linda.  169 

"  Stop,  stop  !     For  some  time  our  intent  has  been 

To  make  you  a  small  present  as  a  proof 

Of  our  regard  ;  now  will  I  merge  it  in 

A  hundred  dollars  for  the  picture.     Well  ? " 

"  Nay,  I  would  rather  not  accept  a  favor. 

I  must  go  now,  —  will  call  again  some  day." 

Desperate  the  "  old  man  "  moved  his  head  about 

In  the  most  striking  lights,  and  patted  it 

Wildly  at  last,  as  if  by  that  mute  act 

To  stay  the  unrelenting  fugitive. 

In  vain  !     She  glided  off,  and  Rachel  with  her. 

"  Where   now,  Miss   Percival  ?  "  —  "  To   make  a 

call 
Upon  a  lawyer  for  advice,  my  dear." 

Thoughtfully  Diggin  listened  to  the  case, 
So  clearly  stated  that  no  part  of  it 
Was  left  to  disentangle.     "  Let  me  look," 
He  said,  "  at  your  new  picture  ;  our  first  step 
Shall  be  to  fix  the  right  of  publication 


17°  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

In  you  alone.     Expect  from  me  no  praise,  — 
For  I  'm  no  judge  of  art.     Fine  points  of  law, 
Not  fine  points  in  a  picture,  have  engaged 
My  thoughts  these  twenty  years.     While  you  wait 

here, 

I  '11  send  my  clerk  to  copyright  this  painting. 
What  shall  we  call  it  ?  "  —  "  Call  it,  if  you  please, 
'  The  Prospect  of  the  Flowers.'  "  —  "  That  will  do. 
Entered  according  to  —  et  cetera. 
Your  name  is — '     "Linda  Percival." — "I  thought 

so. 

Here,  Edward,  go  and  take  a  copyright 
Out  for  this  work,  '  The  Prospect  of  the  Flowers/ 
First  have  it  photographed,  and  then  deposit 
The  photographic  copy  with  the  Court." 

Then  Diggin  paced  the  room  awhile,  and  ran 
Through  his  lank  hair  his  fingers  nervously. 
At  length  his  plan  took  shape  ;  he  stopped  and 
said 


Linda.  171 

"  You  shall  take  back  your  picture  to  this  dealer  ; 
Tell  him  't  is  not  for  sale,  but  get  his  promise 
To  have  it,  for  a  fortnight,  well  displayed 
At  his  shop  window.     This  he  '11  not  refuse. 
Don't  sell  at  any  price.     What 's  your  address  ? 
Edward  shall  go  with  you  :  't  is  well  to  have 
A  witness  at  this  juncture.     Write  me  down 
The  printer's  name  Brown  gave  you.      Ay,  that 's 

right. 

Now  go  ;  and  if  the  picture  is  removed  — 
For  purposes  we  '11  not  anticipate  — 
As  it  will  be  —  we  '11  corner  the  '  old  man/ 
And  his  bald  head  sha'  n't  save  him.     By  the  way, 
If  you  want  money  let  me  be  your  banker  ; 
I  'm  well  content  to  risk  a  thousand  dollars 
On  the  result  of  my  experiment." 

The  picture  was  removed,  as  he  foretold. 
Ten  weeks  went  by  ;  then  Linda  got  it  back. 
"  It  is  the  pleasant  season,"  said  the  lawyer ; 


i/2  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

"  Here   are   three   hundred    dollars.      You   start 

back! 

Miss  Linda,  I  shall  charge  you  ten  per  cent 
On  all  you  borrow.     Oh  !     You  do  not  like 
To  be  in  debt.     This  is  my  risk,  not  yours. 
If  I  recover  nothing,  then  no  debt 
Shall  be  by  you  incurred,  —  so  runs  the  bond  ! 
Truly,  now,  't  is  no  sentimental  loan  : 
I  trust  another's  solvency,  not  yours. 
At  length  you  understand  me,  —  you  consent ! 
Now  do  not  go  to  work  ;  but  you  and  Rachel 
Go  spend  a  long  vacation  at  the  seaside. 
You  want  repose  and  sunshine  and  pure  air. 
Be  in  no  hurry  to  return.     The  longer 
You  're  gone,  the  better.     For  a  year  at  least 
We   must  keep   dark.     That   puzzles   you.     No 

matter. 

Here,  take  my  card,  and  should  you  any  time 
Need  money,  do  not  hesitate  to  draw 
On  me  for  funds.     There  !     Not  a  word  !     Good 

by!" 


Linda.  173 

In  the  cars,  eastward  bound  !     A  clear,  bright  day 
After  a  rain-storm  ;    and,  on  both  sides,  verdure  ; 
Trees  waving  salutations,  waters  gleaming. 
The  brightness  had  its  type  in  Linda's  looks, 
As,  with  her  little  protegee,  she  sat 
And  savored  all  the  beauty,  all  the  bloom. 
On  the  seat  back  of  them,  two  gentlemen 
Chatted  at  intervals  in  tones  which  Linda 
Could  hardly  fail  to  hear,  though  little  heeding. 
But  now  and  then,  almost  unconsciously, 
She  found  herself  attending  to  their  prattle. 
Said  Gossip  Number  One  :  "  You  see  that  veteran 
In  the  straw  hat,  and  the  young  man  beside  him  : 
Father  and  son  are  they.     Old  Lothian, 
Five  months  ago,  was  high  among  the  trusted 
Of  our  chief  bankers  ;  Charles,  his  only  son, 
By  a  maternal  uncle's  death  enriched, 
Kept  out  of  Wall  Street ;  turned  a  stolid  ear 
To  all  high-mounting  schemes  for  doubling  wealth, 
His  taste  inclining  him  to  art  and  letters. 


i/4  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

But  Lothian  had  a  partner,  Judd,  —  a  scamp, 
As  the  result  made  evident ;  and  Judd 
One  day  was  missing ;  bonds,  securities, 
And  bills,  deposits  of  confiding  folk, 
Guardians,  and  widows,  and  old  men  retired, 
All  had  been  gobbled  up  by  Judd  —converted 
Into  hard  cash  —  and  Judd  had  disappeared. 
Despair  for  Lothian  !  a  man  whose  word 
No  legal  form  could  make  more  absolute. 
Crushed,  mortified,  and  rendered  powerless, 
He   could   not   breast   the   storm.     The   mental 

strain 

Threw  him  upon  his  bed,  and  there  he  lay 
Till  Charles,  from  Italy  in  haste  returning, 
Found  his  old  sire  emaciate  and  half  dead 
From  wounded  honor.     '  Come  !  no  more  of  this  ! ' 
Cried  Charles  ;  '  how  happened  it  that  you  forgot 
You  had  a'  son  ?     All  shall  be  well,  my  father.' 
He  paid  off  all  the  liabilities, 
And  found  himself  without  three  thousand  dollars 


Linda.  i/5 

Out  of  a  fortune  of  at  least  a  million. 

What  shall  we  call  him,  imbecile  or  saint  ? 

His  plan  is  now  to  set  up  as  a  teacher. 

Of  such  a  teacher  let  each  thrifty  father 

Beware,  or  he  may  see  his  only  son 

Turn  out  a  poor  enthusiast,  —  perhaps  — 

Who  knows  ?  — an  advocate  of  woman's  rights  !  " 

Attracted  by  the  story,  Linda  tried 

To  get  a  sight  of  him,  the  simpleton  ; 

And,  when  she  saw  his  face,  it  seemed  to  her 

Strangely  familiar.     Was  it  in  a  dream 

That  she  had  once  beheld  it  ?     Vain  the  attempt 

Of  peering  memory  to  fix  the  where 

And  when  of  the  encounter  !     Yet  she  knew 

That  with  it  was  allied  a  grateful  thought. 

Then  Rachel  spoke  and  made  the  puzzle  clear : 

"  The  man  who  sent  us  in  his  carriage  home, 

That  day  you  fainted,  —  don't  you  recollect  ?  " 

"  Ay,  surely !  't  is  the  same.     No  dream-face  that ! 


1 76  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Charles  Lothian,  is  he  ?     If  his  acts  are  folly, 
Then  may  I  be  a  fool !     Such  fools  are  rare. 
How  tender  of  his  father  he  appears ! 
I  wonder  where  they  're  going." 

When,  at  Springfield, 
Father  and  son  got  out,  a  sigh,  or  rather 
The  ghost  of  one,  and  hardly  audible, 
Escaped  from  Linda.     Then  Charles  Lothian, 
While  the  cars  waited,  caught  her  eye,  and  bowed. 
So  he  remembered  her  I     "  Now  that  was  odd. 
But  the  bell  sounds  ;  the  locomotive  puffs  ; 
The  train  moves  on.     Charles  Lothian,  good  by  ! 
Eastward  we  go  ;  away  from  you  —  away  — 
Never  to  meet  again  in  this  wide  world  ;  — 
Like  ships  that  in  mid-ocean  meet  and  part, 
To  meet  no  more  —  O,  nevermore  —  perchance  ! " 


VI. 

BY    THE    SEASIDE. 

T)  ORNE  swiftly  to  the  North  Cape  of  the  Bay, 
Still  on  the  wings  of  steam  the  travellers 

went ; 

And  tenderly  the  purple  sunset  smiled 
Upon  their  journey's  end  ;  a  little  cottage 
With  oaks  and  pines  behind  it,  and,  before, 
High  ocean  crags,  and  under  them  the  ocean, 
Unintercepted  far  as  sight  could  reach  ! 
Foliage  and  waves  !     A  combination  rare 


The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Of  lofty  sylvan  table-land,  and  then  — 

No  barren  strip  to  mar  the  interval  — 

The  watery  waste,  the  ever-changing  main ! 

Old  Ocean,  with  a  diadem  of  verdure 

Crowning  the  summit  where  his  reach  was  stayed  ! 

The  shore,  a  line  of  rocks  precipitous, 

Piled  on  each  other,  leaving  chasms  profound, 

Into  whose  rifts  the  foamy  waters  rushed 

With    gurgling    roar,     then    flowed    in    runlets 

back 

Till  the  surge  drove  them  furiously  in, 
Shaking  with  thunderous  bass  the  cloven  granite! 
Yet  to  the  earth-line  of  the  tumbled  cliffs 
The  wild  grass  crept ;  the  sweet-leafed  bayberry 
Scented  the  briny  air ;  the  fern,  the  sumach, 
The  prostrate  juniper,  the  flowering  thorn, 
The  blueberry,  the  clinging  blackberry, 
Tangled  the  fragrant  sod ;  and  in  their  midst 
The    red    rose    bloomed,   wet   with    the   drifted 
spray. 


By  the  Seaside.  179 

From  the  main. shore  cut  off,  and  isolated 

By  the  invading,  the  circumfluent  waves, 

A  rock  which  time  had  made  an  island,  spread 

With  a  small  patch  of  brine-defying  herbage, 

Is  known  as  Norman's  Woe  ;  for,  on  this  rock, 

Two  hundred  years  ago,  was  Captain  Norman, 

In   his    good    ship    from    England,   driven   and 

wrecked 
In  a  wild  storm,  and  every  life  was  lost 

Stand  on  the  cliff  near  by,  —  southeasterly 

Are  only  waves  on  waves  to  the  horizon ; 

But  easterly,  less  than  two  miles  across, 

And   forming  with    the    coast-line,   whence   you 

look, 

The  harbor's  entrance,  stretches  Eastern  Point, 
A  lighthouse  at  its  end  ;  a  mile  of  land 
Arm-like  thrust  out  to  keep  the  ocean  off; 
So  narrow  that  beyond  its  width,  due  east, 
You  see  the  Atlantic  glittering,  hardly  made 
Less  inconspicuous  by  the  intervention. 


i8o  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

The  cottage  fare,  the  renovating  breeze, 
The  grove,  the  piny  odors,  and  the  flowers, 
Rambles  at  morning  and  the  twilight  time, 
Sea-bathing,  joyous  and  exhilarant, 
Siestas  on  the  rocks,  with  inhalations 
Of  the  pure  breathings  of  the  ocean-tide, — 
Soon  wrought  in  both  the  maidens  visible  change. 
Each  day  their  walks  grew  longer,  till  at  last 
A  ten-mile  tramp  was  no  infrequent  one. 

"And   where   to-day?"    asked    Rachel,    one   fair 

morning. 
"  To    Eastern    Point,"    said    Linda ;     "  with   our 

baskets ! 

For  berries,  there  's  no  place  like  Eastern  Point ; 
Blackberries,  whortleberries,  pigeon-pears,  — 
All  we  shall  find  in  prodigality  ! " 
And  so  by  what  was  once  the  old  stage-road 
Contiguous    to     the    shore,    and    through    the 

woods, — 


By  the  Seaside.  181 

Though  long  abandoned  save  by  scenery-hunters, 
And     overgrown    with     grass    and     vines     and 

bushes ; 

Then  leaving  on  their  right  the  wooded  hill 
Named  from  the  rattlesnakes,  now  obsolete  ; 
Then  by  the  Cove,  and  by  the  bend  of  shore 
Over  Stage-rocks,  by  little  Half-moon  beach, 
Across  the  Cut,  the  Creek,  by  the  Hotel, 
And  through  the  village,  even  to  Eastern  Point,  — 
The  maidens  went,  and  had  a  happy  day. 
And,  when  the  setting  sun  blazed  clear  and  mild, 
And  every  little  cloud  was  steeped  in  crimson, 
To  a  small  wharf  upon  the  harbor  side, 
Along  the  beach  they  strolled,  arid  looked  across 
The  stretch   of  wave  to  Norman's  Woe ;  —  and 

Linda 

Wistfully  said  :  "  Heigho !  I  own  I  'm  tired  ; 
And  you,  too,  Rachel,  you  look  travel-worn, 
And  hardly  good  for  four  miles  more  of  road. 
Could  we  but  make  this  short  cut  over  water  1 


1 82  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

What  would  I  give  now  for  a  boat  to  take  us 
To  Webber's  Cove  !     O,  if  some  timely  oarsman 
Would  only  come  and  say,  '  Fair  demoiselles, 
My  skiff  lies  yonder,  rocking  on  the  tide, 
And  eager  to  convey  you  to  your  home ! ' 
Then  would  I  -    -  Rachel !  " 

"What,  Miss  Percival?" 

"  Look  at  those  men  descending  from  the  ridge  !  " 
"  Well,  I  can  see  an  old  man  and  a  young." 
"And  is  that  all  you  have  to  say  of  them  ?  " 
"  How  should  I  know  about  them  ?     Ah  !     I  see  ! 
Those  are  the  two  we  met  three  weeks  ago,  — 
The  day  we  left  New  York,  —  met  in  the  cars." 
"Ay,  Rachel,  and  their  name  is  Lothian  ; 
Father   and   son    are    they.     Who   would    have 

thought 
That    they   would    find    their   way   to    Eastern 

Point  ? " 

"  Why  not,  as  well  as  we,  Miss  Percival  ? 
Look!    To  the  wharf  they  go  ;  and  there,  beside 

it, 


By  the  Seaside.  183 

If  I  'm  not  much  mistaken,  lies  a  boat. 
The  wished-for  oarsman  he  !     O,  this  is  luck ! 
They  're  going  to  the  boat,  —  he  '11  row  us  over, 
I  '11  run  and  ask  him.     See  you  to  my  basket." 
"  Rachel !    Stop,  Rachel !     Fie,  you  forward  girl ! 
Don't  think  of  it:    come    back!    back,  back,    I 
say  ! " 

But  Rachel  did  not  hear,  or  would  not  heed, 
Straight  to  the  boat  she  ran,  and,  as  the  men 
Drew  nigh  and  stopped,  —  to  Linda's  dire  dismay 
She  went  up  and  accosted  them,  and  pointed 
7o   Norman's   Woe,  —  then    back   to  her   com 
panion,  — 

And  then,  with  gesture  eloquent  of  thanks 
For  some  reply  the  younger  man  had  made, 
She  seemed  to  lead  the  way,  and  he  to  follow 
Along  the  foot-path  to  the  granite  bench 
Where  Linda  sat,  abashed  and  wondering. 
And,  when  they  stood  before  her,  Rachel  said 


1 84  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

"  Miss  Percival,  here  's  Mr.  Lothian  ; 
He  has  a  boat  near  by,  and  will  be  glad 
To  give  us  seats  and  row  us  both  across." 
Charles    Lothian    bowed,    and    Linda,   blushing, 

said, 

"  Against  my  orders  did  this  little  lady 
Accost  you,  sir,  but  I  will  not  affect 
Regret  at  her  success,  if  you  're  content." 
"  More  than  content,  I  'm  very  glad,"  said  Charles  ; 
"  My  boat  is  amply  large  enough  for  four, 
And  we  are  bound,  it  seems,  all  the  same  way. 
My  father  and  myself  have  taken  rooms 
At  Mistress  Moore's,  not  far  from  where  you  live : 
So  count  your  obligation  very  slight." 
"  An  obligation  not  the  first !  "  said  Linda. 
"  So  much  the  better  !  "  said  Charles  Lothian  : 
"  Come,   take   my   arm,   and  let   me   hold   your 

basket. 

What  noble  blackberries  !    I  '11  taste  of  one." 
"  Why  not  of  two  ?    As  many  as  you  will  ? " 


By  the  Seaside.  185 

"Thank    you.      You  Ve    been    adventurous,    it 

seems." 

"  Yes,  Fortune  favors  the  adventurous : 
See  the  old  proverb  verified  to-day  !  " 
"Praise  a  good  day  when   ended.      Here  's  my 

father : 

Father,  Miss  Percival ! "     The  senior  bowed, 
And  said,  "  I  used  to  know  -          And  then,  as  if 
Checked  by  a  reminiscence  that  might  be 
Unwelcome,  he  was  silent,  and  they  went 
All  to  the  boat.     "  Please  let  me  take  an  oar," 
Said  Linda.     "Can   you  row?"    asked   Charles. 

"  A  little ! 

My  father  taught  me."     Then  old  Lothian 
Looked  at  her  with  a  scrutinizing  glance. 

The  ocean  billows  melted  into  one, 
And  that  stretched  level  as  a  marble  floor. 
All  winds  were  hushed,  and  only  sunset  tints 
From  purple  cloudlets,  edged  with  fiery  gold, 


1 86  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

And  a  bright  crimson  fleece  the  sun  had  left, 
Fell  on  the  liquid  plain  incarnadined. 
The  very  pulse  of  ocean  now  was  mute  ; 
From  the  far-off  profound,  no  throb,  no  swell ! 
Motionless  on  the  coastwise  ships  the  sails 
Hung  limp  and  white,  their  very  shadows  white. 
The  lighthouse  windows  drank  the  kindling  red, 
And  flashed  and  gleamed  as  if  the  lamps  were  lit. 

"A  heavenly  eve ! "  sighed  Linda,  rapt  in  praise, 
As  with  poised  oars  the  two  looked  oceanward. 
Then,  keeping   time,   they  pulled   out   from    the 

shore. 
"  But  you  row  well ! "   cried  Charles.     "  I  might 

return 

The  compliment,"  said  Linda.    "  See  that  duck  ! 
How  near,  how  still  he  floats !    He  seems  to  know 
The  holy  time  will  keep  him  safe  from  harm." 
"  Had   I  a  gun,"    said    Charles  -      "  You  would 

not  use  it," 


By  the  Seaside.  187 

Cried  Linda,  flushing.  "And  why  not?"  quoth 
he. 

"  '  Nobility  obliges  ' ;  sympathy 

Now  makes  all  nature  one  and  intimate  ; 

And  we  'd  respect,  even  in  a  duck,  his  share 

In  this  tranquillity,  this  perfect  rest." 

"  I  'm  glad,  then,  that  I  'm  gunless,"  Charles  re 
plied. 

"  Hear  him !"  the  sire  exclaimed  ;  "  he  'd  have  you 

t 

think 
He  's   a   great   sportsman.      Be   not  duped,  my 

dear  ! 

He  will  not  shoot  nor  fish  !     He  got  a  wound 
At  Gettysburg,  I  grant  you,  —  what  of  that  ? 
He  would  far  rather  face  a  battery 
Than  kill  a  duck,  or  even  hook  a  cunner." 
"  See  now,"  said  Charles,  "  the  mischievous  effect 
Of  this  exhilarating  Cape  Ann  air  ! 
'T  is  the  first  taunt  I  've  heard  from  lips  of  his 
Since    my    return     from    Europe.      Look    you, 

father, 


1 88  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

If  I  'm  to  be  exposed  before  young  ladies, 
Your  rations  shall  be  stopped,  and  your  supply 
Of  oxygen  reduced,  —  with  no  more  joking. 
Don't  eye  those  berries  so  feloniously. 
Because  you  Ve  now  an  appetite,  —  because 
You've  just  begun  to  gain  a  little  flesh, — 
Must  I  be  made  the  target  of  your  jeers  ?" 

Smiling,  but  with  sad  eyes,  the  father  said  : 
"  Ah  !    Charlie,  Charlie,  when  I  think  of  it,  - 
Think  how  you  Ve  thrown,  poor  boy,  your  very 

life 

Into  the  breach  of  ruin  made  for  me,  — 
Sacrificed  all,  to  draw  the  lethal  dart 
Out  of  my  wounded  honor  —  to  restore  — 
"  Give  us  a  song,  Miss  Percival,  a  song  ! " 
Charles,  interrupting,  said.    "  The  time,  the  place, 
Call  for  a  song.     Look  !    All  the  lighthouses 
Flash   greeting   to   the   night.      There    Eastern 

Point 


By  the  Seaside.  189 

Flames  out !    Lo,  little  Ten  Pound  Island  follows ! 

See  Baker's  Island  kindling  !     Marblehead  f 

Ablaze  !    Egg  Rock,  too,  off  Nahant,  on  fire  ! 

And  Boston  Light  winking  at  Minot's  Ledge ! 

Like  the  wise  virgins,  all,  with  ready  lamps ! 

Now  might  I  turn  fire-worshipper,  and  bow 

In  adoration  at  this  solemn  rite  : 

I  '11  compromise,  however,  for  a  song." 

"Lest  you  turn  Pagan,  then,   I  '11  sing,"  quoth 

Linda. 
And,  while  they  rested  on  their  oars,  she  sang. 

LINDA'S     SONG. 

A  little  bird  flew 

To  the  top  of  a  tree  : 
The  sky  it  was  blue, 

And  the  bird  sang  to  me. 
So  tender  and  true  was  the  strain 
The  singer,  I  hoped,  would  remain  : 
O  little  bird,  stay  and  prolong 
The  rapture  the  grief  of  that  song  I 


The  Woman  who  Dared. 

A  little  thought  came, 

Came  out  of  my  heart  ; 
It  whispered  a  name 

That  made  me  to  start  : 
And  the  rose-colored  breath  of  my  sigh 
Flushed  the  earth  and  the  sea  and  the  sky. 
Delay,  little  thought  !     O,  delay, 
And  gladden  my  life  with  thy  ray  ! 


"  Such  singing  lured  Ulysses  to  the  rocks  !  " 
Old  Lothian  said,  applauding.   "  Charles,  look  out, 
Or,  ere  we  reck  of  it,  this  reckless  siren 
Will  have  us  all  a  wreck  on  Norman's  Woe. 
See  to  your  oars  !    Where  are  we  drifting,  man  ?  " 
"  Who  would  not  drift  on  such  a  night  as  this  ?  " 
Said   Charles  ;  "  all  's  right."     Then,  heading  for 

the  Cove, 
Slowly  and  steadily  the  rowers  pulled. 

But,  when  the  moon  shone  crescent  in  the  west, 
And  the  faint  outline  of  the  part  obscured 
Thread-like  curved  visible  from  horn  to  horn,  - 


By  the  Seaside.  191 

And  Jupiter,  supreme  among  the  orbs, 
And  Mars,  with  rutilating  beam,  came  forth, 
And  the  great  concave  opened  like  a  flower, 
Unfolding  firmaments  and  galaxies, 
Sparkling  with  separate  stars,  or  snowy  white 
With  undistinguishable  suns  beyond,  — 
They  paused  and  rested  on  their  oars  again, 
And  looked  around,  —  in  adoration  looked. 
For,  gazing  on  the  inconceivable, 
They  felt  God  is,  though  inconceivable  ;  — 
And,  while  they  mutely  worshipped,  suddenly 
A  change  came  over  Linda's  countenance, 
And  her  glazed  mortal  eyes  were  functionless ; 
For  there,  before  her  in  the  boat,  stood  two 
Unbidden,  not  unwelcome  passengers, 

Her  father  and  her  mother 

"Why,  Miss  Linda, 
Wake !  Are  you  sleeping  ?     What  has  been  the 

matter  ? 
Here  we  Ve  been  waiting  for  you  full  five  minutes. 


i92  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

And  I  have  called,  and  Mr.  Lothian 
He  too  has  called,  and  yet  you  make  no  answer  ! " 
"  Rachel !  What  is  it  ?  There  !  Excuse  me  all, 
If  I  seemed  impolite.     Now,  then,  I  'm  ready. 
A  strong  pull  shall  it  be  ?  So  !  Let  her  dart !  " 

And  in  ten  minutes  they  were  at  the  landing 
And  on  their  homeward  way  ;  and,  as  they  parted, 
The  spoils  were  shared,  and  the  old  man  accepted 
One  of  the  baskets,  and  all  cried,  "  Good  night ! " 


The  morning  sea-fog  like  an  incense  rose 
Up  to  the  sun  and  perished  in  his  beam  ; 
The  sky's  blue  promise  brightened  through  the 

veil. 

With  her  unopened  sketch-book  in  her  hand, 
Linda  stood  on  the  summit  looking  down 
On  Norman's  Woe,  and  felt  upon  her  brow 
The  cooling  haze  that  foiled  the  August  heat. 


By  the  Seaside.  193 

Near  her  knelt  Rachel,  hunting  curiously 
For  the  fine  purple  algae  of  the  clefts. 
Good  cause  had  Linda  for  a  cheerful  heart ; 
For  had  she  not  that  day  received  by  mail 
A  copy  of  "  The  Prospect  of  the  Flowers,"  — 
Published    in     chromo,    and    these    words    from 

Diggin  ? 

"  Your  future  is  assured  :  my  bait  is  swallowed, 
Bait,  hook,  and  sinker,  all ;  now  let  our  fish 
Have  line  enough  and  time  enough  for  play, 
And  we  will  land  him  safely  by  and  by. 
A  good  fat  fish  he  is,  and  thinks  he  's  cunning. 
Enclosed  you  '11  find  a  hundred-dollar  bill  ; 
Please  send  me  a  receipt.     Keep  very  quiet." 

Yet  Linda  was  not  altogether  happy. 
Why  was  it  that  Charles  Lothian  had  called 
Once,  and  once  only,  after  their  adventure  ? 
Called  just  to  ask  her,  How  she  found  herself? 
And,  Did  she  overtask  herself  in  rowing  ? 


11 


194  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

How  happened  it,  in  all  her  walks  and  rambles, 
They  rarely  met,  or,  if  they  met,  a  bow 
Formal  and  cold  was  all  the  interview  ? 
While  thus  she  mused,  she  started  at  a  cry : 
"  Ah  !  here  's  our  siren,  cumbent  on  the  rocks  ! 
Where  should  a  siren  be,  if  not  on  rocks  ? " 
Old  Lothian's  voice !     He  came  with  rod  and  line 
To  try  an  angler's  luck.     Behind  him  stepped 
Charles,  who  stood  still,  as  if  arrested,  when 
He  noticed  Linda. 

Then,  as  if  relenting 

In  sorne  resolve,  he  jumped  from  rock  to  rock 
To  where  she  leaned ;  and,  greeting  her,  inquired : 
"Have  you  been  sketching?"  -"No,  for  indo 
lence 

Is  now  my  occupation."  —  "  Here  's  a  book  ; 
May  I  not  look  at  it  ?  "  —  "  You  may."  -  -  "  Is  this 
An  album?"  —  "T  is  my  sketch-book."  --"  Do 

you  mean 
These  are  your  sketches,  and  original  ? " 


By  the  Seaside.  195 

"Ay,  truly,  mine  ;  from  nature  every  one." 
"  But  here  we  have  high  art !  No  amateur 
Could  color  flower  like  that."  —  "  Ah  !  there  you 

touch  me  ; 

For  I  'm  no  amateur  in  painting  flowers,  — 
I  get  my  living  by  it."  — "I  could  praise 
That  sea-view  also,  —  what  a  depth  of  sky  ! 
That  beach,  —  that  schooner  flying  from  a  squall,  — 
If  I  'm  a  judge,  here  's  something  more  than  skill !  " 

Then  the  discourse  slid  off  to  woman's  rights  ; 
For  Lothian  held  a  newspaper  which  told 
Of  some  convention,  the  report  of  which 
Might  raise  a  smile.     One  of  the  lady  speakers, 
It  seems,  would  give  her  sex  the  privilege 
Of  taking  the  initiative  in  wooing, 
If  so  disposed  ! 

"  Indeed,  why  not  ?  "  cried  Linda. 
"  Indeed,  you  almost  take  my  breath  away 
With  your  Why  not,  Miss  Percival  !  Why  not  ? " 


196  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

"  Yes,  I  repeat,  —  if  so  disposed,  why  not  ? 
For  why  should  woman  any  more  than  man 
Play  the  dissembler,  with  so  much  at  stake  ? 
I  know  the  ready  taunt  that  here  will  rise  : 
'  Already  none  too  backward  are  our  girls 
In  husband-seeking.'     Seeking  in  what  way  ? 
Seeking  by  stratagem  and  management, — 
Not  by  frank,  honest  means  !  What  food  for  mirth 
T  would  give  to  shallow  men  to  see  a  woman 
Court  the  relation,  intertwined  with  all 
Of  purest  happiness  that  she  may  crave,  — 
The  ties  of  wife  and  mother !  O,  what  pointing, 
Sneering,  and  joking  !  And  yet  why  should  care 
Thoughtful  and  pure  and  wisely  provident, 
That  Nature's  sacred  prompting  shall  not  fail, 
Be  one  thing  for  a  man,  and  quite  another 
For  her,  the  woman  ?'    Why  this  flimsy  mask  ? 
This  playing  of  a  part,  put  on  to  suit, 
Not  the  heart's  need,  but  Fashion  custom-bound  ? 
Feigning  we  must  be  sought,  and  never  seek  ? 


By  the  Seaside.  197 

Now,  through  these  social  hindrances  and  bars, 
The  bold,  perhaps  the  intriguing,  carry  off 
Prizes  the  true  and  modest  ought  to  win. 
And  so  we  hear  it  coarsely  said  of  husbands, 
'  Better  a  poor  one  far,  than  none  at  all ! ' 
A  thought  ignoble,  and  which  no  true  woman 
Should  harbor  for  a  moment.     Give  her  freedom, 
Freedom  to  seek,  and  she  '11  not  harbor  it ! 
Because  if  woman,  equally  with  man, 
Were  privileged  thus,  she  would  discriminate 
Much  more  than  now,  and  fewer  sordid  unions 
Would  be  the  sure  result.     For  what  if  man 
Were  chained  to  singleness  until  some  woman 
Might  seek  his  hand  in  marriage,  would  he  be 
Likely  as  now  to  make  a  wise  election  ? 
Would  he  not  say,  '  Time  flies  ;  my  chances  lessen 
And  I  must  plainly  take  what  I  can  get  ? ' 
True,  there  are  mercenary  men  enough, 
Seeking  rich  dowries  ;  they  'd  find  fewer  dupes, 
Were  women  free  as  men  to  seek  and  choose, 


198  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Banish  the  senseless  inequality, 

And  you  make  marriage  less  a  vulgar  game 

In  which  one  tries  to  circumvent  the  other. 

Oh !  all  this  morbid  ribaldry  of  men, 

And  all  this  passive  imbecility, 

And  superstitious  inactivity, 

Dissimulation  and  improvidence, 

False  shame  and  lazy  prejudice  si  women, 

Where  the  great  miracle  of  sex  concerns  us, 

And  Candor  should  be  innocently  wise, 

And  Knowledge  should  be  reverently  free,  — 

Is  against  nature,  —  helps  to  hide  the  way 

Out  of  the  social  horrors  that  confound  us, 

And  launches  thousands  into  paths  impure, 

Shutting  them  out  from  holy  parentage." 

"  I  hold,"  said  Charles,  "  the  question  is  not  one 
Of  reasoning,  but  of  simple  sentiment. 
As  it  would  shock  me,  should  a  woman  speak 
In  virile  baritone,  so  would  I  shudder 


By  the  Seaside.  199 

To  hear  a  grave  proposal  marriageward 
In  alto  or  soprano." 

"  T  would  depend  ! 

Depend  on  love,"  said  Linda  ;  "  love  potential, 
Or   present." — "Nay,  't   would   frighten  love!" 

cried  Charles,  — 

"  Kill  it  outright."  —  "  Then  would  it  not  be  love  ! 
What !  would  you  love  a  woman  less  because 
She  durst  avow  her  love,  before  the  cue 
Had  been  imparted  by  your  lordly  lips  ? 
Rare  love  would  that  be  truly  which  could  freeze 
Because  the  truth  came  candid  from  her  heart, 
And  in  advance  of  the  proprieties  !  " 
"  But    may    the    woman    I    could    love,"     cried 

Charles, 

"  Forbear  at  least  the  rash  experiment ! " 
"  I  doubt,"  said  Linda,  "  if  you  know  your  heart  ; 
For  hearts  look  to  the  substance,  not  the  form. 
Why  should  not  woman  seek  her  happiness 
With  brow  as  unabashed  as  man  may  wear 


200  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

In  seeking  his  ?  Ah  !  lack  of  candor  here 
Works  more  regrets,  for  woman  and  for  man, 
Than  we  can  reckon.     Let  but  woman  feel 
That  in  the  social  scheme  she  's  not  a  cipher, 
The  remedy,  be  sure,  is  not  far  off." 

"To  me  it  seems,"  said  Lothian,  "  that  you  war 
Against  our  natural  instincts  :  have  they  not 
Settled  the  point,  even  as  the  world  has  done  ? ' 
Said  Linda:  "Instincts  differ;  they  may  be 
Results  of  shallow  prejudice  or  custom. 
The  Turk  will  tell  you  that  polygamy 
Is  instinct ;  and  the  savage  who  stalks  on. 
In  dirty  painted  grandeur,  while  his  squaw 
Carries  the  burdens,  might  reply  that  instinct 
Regulates  that     So  instinct  proves  too  much. 
Queens  and  great  heiresses  are  privileged 
To  intimate  their  matrimonial  choice,  — 
Simply  because  superiority 
In  power  or  riches  gives  an  apt  excuse  : 


By  the  Seaside.  201 

Let  a  plurality  of  women  have 

The  wealth  and  power,  and  you  might  see  reversed 

What  now  you  call  an  instinct.     When  a  higher 

Civilization  shall  make  woman  less 

Dependent  for  protection  and  support 

On  man's  caprice  or  pleasure,  there  may  be 

A  higher  sort  of  woman  ;  one  who  shall 

Feel  that  her  lot  is  more  in  her  own  hands, 

And  she,  like  man,  a  free  controlling  force, 

Not  a  mere  pensioner  on  paternal  bounty 

Until  some  sultan  throws  the  handkerchief." 

A  cry  of  triumph  from  the  fisherman, 
Exuberant  at  having  caught  a  bass, 
Here  ended  the  discussion,  leaving  Linda 
With  the  last  word.     Charles  went  to  chat  with 

Rachel  ; 

And  Linda,  summoned  by  vociferations 
From  the  excited,  the  transported  captor, 
Descended  to  inspect  the  amazing  fish. 
9* 


2O2  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

"  A  beauty,  is  it  not,  Miss  Percival  ? 

A  rare  one,  too,  for  this  part  of  the  coast ! 

'T  will  be  a  study  how  to  have  it  cooked. 

Now  sit  here,  in  the  shadow  of  this  rock. 

Your  father's  name  was  Albert  Percival  ? 

So  I  supposed.     I  Ve  often  heard  my  wife 

Speak  of  him  as  of  one  she  knew  was  wronged 

Most  foully  in  his  wrestle  with  the  law. 

Have  you  not  met  with  Harriet  Percival  ? " 

"  Once  only,  and  our  interview  was  brief. 

Is  she  not  married  ? "  —  "  No,  nor  like  to  be, 

Although  her  fortune  is  a  pretty  one, 

Even  for  these  times,  —  two  millions,  I  believe  ; 

All  which  her  mother  may  inherit  soon  ; 

For  Harriet  is  an  invalid,  but  hoards 

Her  income  quite  as  thriftily  as  if 

She  looked  for  progeny  and  length  of  days. 

The  mother,  as  you  may  not  be  aware, 

Has  married  an  aspiring  gentleman 

Who  means  to  build  a  palace  on  the  Hudson, 

And  Harriet's  money  hence  is  greatly  needed." 


By  the  Seaside.  203 

The   mist   now   cleared,  and   the   sun    shone   in 

power, 

So  that  the  heat  soon  drove  them  to  the  woods. 
The  senior  took  his  capture  home  for  dinner  ; " 
Rachel  strolled,  picking  berries  by  the  brook  ; 
And,  under  lofty  pines,  sat  Charles  and  Linda, 
And  talked  discursively,  till  Linda's  thoughts, 
Inclining  now  to  memory,  now  to  hope, 
Vibrating  from  the  future  to  the  past, 
Took,  in  a  silent  mood,  this  rhythmic  form. 

UNDER    THE    PINES. 

O  pine-trees  !  bid  the  busy  breeze  be  still 
That  through  your  tops  roars  like  the  constant  surge  : 
Such  was  the  sound  I  heard  in  happy  days 
Under  the  pines. 

In  happy  days,  when  those  I  loved  were  by; 
In  happy  days,  when  love  was  daily  food  ; 
And  jocund  childhood,  finding  it,  found  joy 
Under  the  pines. 


204  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Again  I  hear  the  west-wind  in  your  tops  ; 
Again  I  scent  the  odor  you  exhale  ; 
But  sound  and  odor  now  provoke  but  tears 
Under  the  pines. 

O  pine-trees  !  shall  a  different  joy  be  mine, 
One  day  when  I  shall  seek  your  fragrant  shade  ? 
Whisper  it  faintly,  breezes,  to  my  heart 
Under  the  pines 

"  Truly,  Miss  Percival,  you  puzzle  me," 
Said  Charles,  upon  her  silent  revery 
Breaking  abruptly  in  :  "  ay,  you  could  fire 
And  wound  the  villain  bearing  off  the  child, 
And  you  can  brave  the  radical  extreme 
On  this  great  woman  question  of  the  day,  — 
Yet  do  you  seem  a  very  woman  still, 
And  not  at  all  like  any  man  I  know,  — 
Not  even  like  an  undeveloped  man  ! 
And  I  'm  not  greatly  exercised  by  fear, 
Leaning  here  by  your  side  thus  lazily." 
"  Don't  mock  me  now,"  said  Linda ;    "  I  'm  not 
armed  ; 


By  the  Seaside.  205 

Be  generous,  therefore,  in  your  raillery." 
"  Not  armed  ?     Then  will  I  venture  to  propose 
That  when  the  tide  is  low  this  afternoon 
We  try  the  beach  on  horseback.     Will  you  ven 
ture  ? " 

The  joy  that  sparkled  in  her  eyes  said  "Yes" 
Before  her  tongue  could  duplicate  assent. 
Said  Charles,  "  I  '11  bring  the  horses  round  at  six." 
"  I  will  be  ready,  Mr.  Lothian." 

There  was  no  breach  of  punctuality  : 

Though  sighs,  from  deeper  founts  than  tears,  were 

heaved, 

When  she  drew  forth  the  summer  riding-habit 
Worn  last  when  in  the  saddle  with  her  father. 
"  Here  are  the  horses  at  the  door  ! "  cried  Rachel ; 
"A  bay  horse  and  a  black  ;  the  bay  is  yours." 
When  they  were  mounted,  Lothian  remarked  : 
"  Little  Good  Harbor  Beach  shall  be  our  point ; 
So  called  because  an  Indian  once  pronounced 


2o6  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

The  harbor  <  little  good,'  meaning  'quite  bad' ; 
A  broad  and  open  beach,  from  which  you  see 
Running  out  southerly  the  ocean  side 
Of  Eastern  Point ;  its  lofty  landward  end 
Gray  with   huge    cliffs.     There    shall   you   mark 

'  Bass  Rock/ 

Rare  outlook  when  a  storm-wind  from  the  east 
Hurls  the  Atlantic  up  the  craggy  heights." 

The  air  was  genial,  and  a  rapid  trot 

Soon  brought  them  to  the  beach.     The  ebb  had 

left 

A  level  stretch  of  sand,  wide,  smooth,  and  hard, 
With  not  a  hoof-mark  on  the  glistening  plain. 
The   horses    tossed    their    heads   with    snorting 

pride, 

Feeling  the  ocean  breeze,  as  curved  and  fell 
Up  the  long  line  the  creeping  fringe  of  foam, 
Then  backward  slid  in  undulating  glass, 
While  all  the  west  in  Tyrian  splendor  flamed. 


By  the  Seaside.  207 

"  But  this  is  life  !  "  cried  Linda,  as  she  put 
Her  horse  to  all  his  speed,  and  shook  her  whip. 
They  skimmed  the  sand,  they  chased  the  flying 

wave, 

They  walked  their  horses  slow  along  the  beach  : 
And,  as  the  light  fell  on  a  far-off  sail, 
And  made  it  a  white  glory  to  the  eye, 
Said  Linda  :  "  See  !  it  fades  into  the  gray, 
And  now  't  is  dim,  and  now  is  seen  no  more ! 
Yet  would  a  little  height  reveal  it  still. 
So  fade  from  memory  scenes  which  higher  points 
Of  vision  shall  reveal  :  the  beautiful, 
The  good,  shall  never  die  ;  and  so  to-day 
Shall  be  a  lasting,  everlasting  joy  !  " 

"  Would  I  might  see  more  of  such  days  ! "  said  he, 
"  In  the  obscure  before  me  !    Fate  forbids. 
My  time  of  idlesse  terminates  to-night. 
To-morrow  to  the  city  we  return. 
Thither  I  go,  to  open,  in  October, 


208  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

A  private  school ;  and  I  must  find  a  house 
And  make  my  preparations." 

On  they  rode, 

After  these  words,  in  silence  for  a  mile 
Upon  their  homeward  way.     Then  Lothian  : 
"  And  what  will  your  address  be,  in  the  city  ?" 
"  I  do  not  know,  nor  care,"  said  Linda,  switching 
Her  horse's  ear,  to  start  a  quicker  trot. 
Another  mile  of  silence  !     "  Look  !  "  cried  he  ; 
"The   lighthouse   light   salutes   us  !  "  —  "  Yes,  I 

see." 

"Why  do  you  go  so  fast  ? "  —  « I  '11  slacken  speed 
If  you  desire  it.     There!"    They  breathed  their 

horses  ; 

Then  Lothian  :    "  Indeed,  I  hope  that  we 
Shall  meet  again."--" Why  not?     The  world  is 

wide, 

But  I  have  known  a  letter  in  a  bottle, 
Flung  over  in  mid-ocean,  to  be  found 
And  reach  its  owner.     Doubtless,  we  may  meet." 
"  I  'm  glad  to  find  you  confident  of  that" 


By  the  Seaside.  209 

Silence  again  !    And  so  they  rode  along 
Till  they  saw  Rachel  coming  from  the  house 
To  greet  them.     Charles   helped    Linda  to  dis 
mount, 
Held   out   his   hand,    and  said,   "  Good  by,  Miss 

Linda." 
"  Good  by  ! "    she    cheerily  answered  ;    "  bid  your 

father 

Good  by  for  me.     And  so  you  go  indeed 
To-morrow  ?"  —  "Yes,  we  may  not  meet  again." 
"Well;     pleasant     journey !"  —  "Thank     you. 

Good  by,  Rachel." 

He  rode  away,  leading  her  panting  horse  ; 
And,  when  the  trees  concealed  him,  Linda  rushed 
Up  stairs,  and  locked  the  door,  and  wept  awhile. 

As,  early  the  next  morning,  she  looked  forth 
On  the  blue  ocean  from  the  open  window, 
"  Now,  then,  for  work  !  "  she  cried,  and  drew  her 
palm 

N 


210  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Across  her  brow,  as  if  to  thrust  away 
Thoughts  that  too  perseveringly  came  back 
She  heard  a  step.     'T  is  he !     "  I  hardly  hoped, 
Miss  Percival,  to  find  you  up  so  early  : 
Good  by,  once  more  ! "  —  "  Good  by  !    Don't  miss 

the  train." 

At  this  a  shadow  fell  on  Lothian's  face, 
As  with  uplifted  hat  and  thwarted  smile, 
He  turned  away.     Then  off  with  hasty  stride 
He  walked  and  struck  the  bushes  listlessly. 

"  What  did  I  mean  by  speaking  so  ? "  said  Linda, 
With  hand  outstretched,  as  if  to  draw  him  back. 
"  Poor  fellow  !     He  looked  sad  ;   but  why  —  but 

why 

Is  he  so  undemonstrative  ?    And  why 
Could  he  not  ask  again  for  my  address, 
I  'd  like  to  know  ? "     Poor    Linda !     She  could 

preach, 
But,  like  her  elders,  could  not  always  practise. 


VII. 


FROM    LINDA'S    DIARY, 


T  T  OME  again  !    Home  ?   what   satire    in   the 

word  ! 

If  home  is  where  the  heart  is,  where 's  my  home  ? 
Well :  here 's  my  easel  ;  here  my  old  piano  ; 
Here  the  memorials  of  my  early  days ! 
Here  let  me  try  at  least  to  be  content. 
This  din  of  rolling  wheels  beneath  my  window, 
Let  it  renew  for  me  the  ocean's  roar  ! 


212  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

n. 

It  is  the  heart  makes  music  musical ! 

My  neighbor  has  a  mocking-bird  :  its  song 

Has  been  as  little  heeded  as  the  noise 

Of  rattling  wheels  incessant ;  but  to-day 

One  of  its  strains  brought  all  Elysium  back 

Into  my  heart.     What  was  it  ?     What  the  tie 

Linking  it  with  some  inexpressive  joy  ? 

At  length  I  solve  the  mystery  !     Those  notes, 

Pensively  slow  and  sadly  exquisite, 

Were  what  the  wood-thrush  piped  at  early  dawn 

After  that  evening  passage  in  the  boat, 

When  stars  came  out,  that  never  more  shall  set. 

Oh !  sweet  and  clear  the  measured  cadence  fell 

Upon  my  ear  in  slumber  —  and  I  woke  ! 

I  woke,  and  listened  while  the  first  faint  flush 

Of  day  was  in  the  east  ;  while  yet  the  grove 

Showed  only  purple  gloom,  and  on  the  beach 

The  tidal  waves  with  intermittent  rush 


From  Lindas  Diary.  213 

Broke  lazily  and  lent  their  mingling  chime. 
And  O  the  unreckoned  riches  of  the  soul ! 
The  possible  beatitudes,  of  which 
A  glimpse  is  given,  a  transitory  glimpse, 
So  rarely  in  a  lifetime !     Then  it  was, 
Hearing  that  strain,  as  if  all  joy  the  Past 
Had  in  its  keeping,  —all  the  Future  held,  — 
All  love,  all  adoration,  and  all  beauty,  — 
Made  for  a  moment  the  soul's  atmosphere, 
And  lifted  it  to  bliss  unspeakable. 
O  splendor  fugitive  !     O  transport  rare  ! 
Transfiguring  and  glorifying  life  ! 


in. 


This  strange,  inexplicable  human  heart ! 

My  lawyer  sends  me  more  good  news  ;  he  writes  : 

"  The  picture's  sale  will  reach  ten  thousand  copies, 

And  for  the  first  year  only  !  We  shall  have 

A  big  bill  to  send  in  ;  and  do  not  fear 

But  the  '  old  man  '  will  pay  it,  every  dime. 


214  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

To  escape  the  heavy  damages  the  law 

Allows  for  such  infringement,  he  '11  be  glad 

To  compromise  for  the  amount  I  fix ; 

And  what  I  shall  compel  him  to  disgorge 

Will  simply  be  fair  copyright  on  all 

Your   published  works ;  and  this  will   give   you 

clear 

Some  fifteen  thousand  dollars,  not  to  speak 
Of  a  fixed  interest  in  future  sales." 
So  writes  my  lawyer.     Now  one  would  suppose 
That  news  like   this  would   make   me   light   of 

heart, 

Spur  my  ambition  ;  and,  as  taste  of  blood 
Fires  the  pet  tiger,  even  so  touch  of  gold 
Would  rouse  the  sacred  appetite  of  gain. 
But  with  attainment  cometh  apathy  ; 
And  I  was  somewhat  happier,  methinks, 
When  life  was  all  a  struggle,  and  the  prayer, 
"  Give  me  my  daily  bread,"  had  anxious  mean 
ing. 


From  Lindas  Diary.  215 

IV. 

Is  it  then  true  that  woman's  proper  sphere 

Is  in  the  affections  ?  that  she  's  out  of  place 

When  these  are  balked,  and  science,  art,  or  trade 

Has  won  the  dedication  of  her  thought  ? 

Nay  !  the  affections  are  for  all  ;  and  he, 

Or  she,  has  most  of  life,  who  has  them  most. 

O,  not  an  attribute  of  sex  are  they ! 

Heart  loneliness  is  loneliness  indeed, 

But  not  for  woman  any  more  than  man, 

Were  she  so  trained,  her  active  faculties 

Could  have  a  worthy  aim. 

What  worthier, 

Than  the  pursuit,  the  discipline  of  beauty  ? 
He  who  finds  beauty  helps  to  interpret  God  : 
For  not  an  irreligious  heart  can  dwell 
In  him  who  sees  and  knows  the  beautiful. 
I  '11  not  believe  that  one  whom  Art  has  chosen 
For  a  high  priest  can  be  irreverent, 
Sordid,  unloving  ;  his  veil-piercing  eye 


216  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Sees  not  in  life  the  beauty  till  it  sees 

God  and  the  life  beyond  ;  not  in  a  dream 

Of  Pantheistic  revery  where  all 

In  all  is  lost,  diluted,  and  absorbed, 

And  consciousness  and  personality 

Vanish  like  smoke  forever  ;  but  all  real, 

Distinct,  and  individual,  though  all 

Eternally  dependent  on  the  One ! 

Who  gave  the  Eye  to  see,  shall  He  not  see  ? 

Who  gave  the  Heart  to  feel,  shall  He  not  love  ? 

Of  knowledge  infinite  we  know  a  letter, 

A  syllable  or  two,  and  thirst  for  more  : 

Is  there  not  One,  Teacher  at  once  and  Cause, 

Who  comprehends  all  beauty  and  all  science, 

Holding  infinity,  that,  step  by  step, 

We  may  advance,  and  find,  in  what  seems  good 

To  Him,  our  gladness  and  our  being's  crown  ? 

If  this  were  not,  then  what  a  toy  the  world  ! 

And  what  a  mockery  these  suns  and  systems ! 

.And  how  like  pumping  at  an  empty  cistern 

Were  it  to  live  and  study  and  aspire  ! 


From  Linda 's  Diary.  217 

Come,  then,  O  Art !  and  warm  me  with  thy  smile  ! 
Flash  on  my  inward  sight  thy  radiant  shapes ! 
August  interpreter  of  thoughts  divine, 
Whether  in  sound,  or  word,  or  form  revealed ! 
Pledge  and  credential  of  immortal  life  ! 
Grand  arbiter  of  truth  !  Consoler  !  come  ! 
Come,  help  even  me  to  seek  thee  and  to  find ! 

v. 

Winter  is  here  again  ;  it  sees  me  still 
At  work  upon  my  picture.     This  presents 
Two  vases,  filled  with  flowers,  upon  a  slab. 
"  Which  will  you  choose  ? "  I  call  it :  't  is  in  oil. 
Three  hours  a  day  are  all  I  give  to  it, 
So  fine  the  work,  so  trying  to  the  eyes. 
Thus  have  I  ample  time  for  teaching  Rachel :  ' 
A  good  child  and  affectionate  !  I  Ve  found 
Her  aptitude  ;  she  has  a  taste  in  bonnets, 
With  an  inventive  skill  in  ornament. 
And  so  I  have  her  regularly  taught 


10 


2i 8  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

By  an  accomplished  milliner  ;  and  Rachel 
Already  promises  to  lead  her  teacher. 
Had  I  a  fortune,  still  I  'd  have  her  feel 
That  she  must  conquer  something  worthily ; 
Something  to  occupy  her  active  powers, 
And  yield  a  fair  support,  should  need  require. 

VI. 

Whom  should  I  meet  to-day  but  Meredith ! 

My  washerwoman,  Ellen  Blount,  is  ill, 

So  ill  I  fear  she  never  will  be  well. 

'T  is  the  old  story,  every  day  renewed : 

A  little  humble,  tender-hearted  woman, 

Tied  to  a  husband  whom  to  call  a  brute 

Would  be  to  vilify  the  quadrupeds  ! 

A  fellow,  who  must  have  his  pipe,  his  whiskey, 

And  his  good  dinner,  let  what  may  befall 

His  wife  and  children.    He  could  take  the  pittance 

She  got  from  her  hard  toil,  and  spend  it  on 

Himself  and  his  companions  of  the  jug. 


From  Lindas  Diary.  219 

When  out  of  work,  as  he  would  often  be, 

Then  double  toil  for  her !  with  peevish  words 

From  him,  the  sole  requital  of  it  all ! 

Child  after  child  she  bore  him  ;  but,  compelled 

Too  quickly  after  childbirth  to  return 

To  the  old  wash-tub,  all  her  sufferings 

Reacted  on  the  children,  and  they  died, 

Haply  in  infancy  the  most  of  them,  — 

Until  but  one  was  left,  —  a  little  boy, 

Puny  and  pale,  gentle  and  uncomplaining, 

With  all  the  mother  staring  from  his  eyes 

In  hollow,  anxious,  pitiful  appeal. 

In  this  one  relic  all  her  love  and  hope 

And  all  that  made  her  life  endurable 

At  length  were  centred.     She  had  saved  a  dollar 

To  buy  for  him  a  pair  of  overshoes  ; 

But,  as  she  went  to  get  them,  Blount  waylaid  her, 

Learnt  that  she  had  the  money,  forced  it  from  her. 

Poor  Teddy  had  to  go  without  his  shoes. 

'T  was  when  the  January  thaw  had  made 


22o  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

The  streets  a-reek  with  mud  and  melting  snow. 
Poor  Teddy  wet  his  feet,  took  cold,  and  died. 
"  Come  soon,  mamma,"  were  his  last  feeble  words. 
Blount  was  a  cunning  ruffian  ;  well  he  knew 
How  far  to  go,  and  where  and  when  to  pause. 
Fluent  and  specious  with  his  tongue,  he  kept, 
In  his  small  sphere,  a  certain  show  of  credit ; 
And  he  could  blow  in  tune  for  mother  church, 
Though  few  the  pennies  he  himself  would  give  her. 
"  Cast  off  the  wretch,"  was  my  advice  to  Ellen. 
She  loved  him  not  ;  she  might  as  well  have  tried 
To  love  a  load  that  galled  and  wearied  her. 
But  custom,  social  fear,  and,  above  all, 
Those  sacramental  manacles  the  church 
Had  bound  her  in,  and  to  the  end  would  keep, 
Forbade  the  poor,  scared,  helpless  little  woman 
To  free  herself,  by  one  condign  resolve, 
From  the  foul  incubus  that  sucked  her  life. 
So  a  false  sense  of  duty  kept  her  tied, 
Feeding  in  him  all  that  was  pitiless. 


From  Lindas  Diary.  221 

And  now  she  's  dying.     I  had  gone  to-day 
To  take  some  little  dainties,  cream  and  fruit, 
And  there,  administering  consolation, 
Was  Meredith. 

Hearing  his  tones  of  faith, 
Seeing  his  saintly  look  of  sympathy, 
I  felt,  there  being  between  us  no  dissent 
In  spirit,  dogmas  were  of  small  account : 
And  so  I  knelt  and  listened  to  his  prayer. 
At  length  he  noticed  me,  and  recognized. 
"  Miss  Percival !  "  he  cried  ;  "  can  this  be  you  ? 
But  when  and  why  did  you  return  from  England  ? " 
"  I  've  never  been  in  England,  never  been 
Out  of  my  native  country,"  I  replied. 
"  But  that  is  unaccountable,"  said  he  ; 
"  For  I  Ve  seen  letters,  written  as  from  you, 
Signed  with  your  name,  acknowledging  receipts 
Of  certain  sums  of  money,  dated  London." 
"  No  money  have  I  had  but  what  I  Ve  earned," 
Was  my  reply  ;  "  and  who  should  send  me  money  ? " 


222  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Said  he  :  "I  have  a  carriage  at  the  door ; 
I  would  learn  more  of  this  ;  you'll  not  object 
To  take  a  seat  with  me  ?     Thank  you  ;   that 's 
right." 

Leaving  the  patient  in  good  hands,  we  went, 
And  through  the  noisy  streets  drove  to  the  Park. 
Then  all  I  'd  ever  known  about  my  parents 
He  drew  from  me  ;  and  all  my  history 
Since  I  had  parted  from  him  ;  noted  down 
Carefully  my  address,  and  gave  me  his. 
Then  to  my  lodgings  driving  with  me  back, 
He  left  me  with  a  Benedicite  ! 
He  's  rich  :  has  he  been  sending  money,  then  ? 
What  means  it  all  ?     Conjecture  finds  no  clew. 

VII. 

Gently  as  thistle-downs  are  borne  away 
From  the  dry  stem,  went  Ellen  yesterday. 
I  heard  her  dying  utterance  ;  it  was  : 


From  Lindas  Diary.  223 

"  I  'm  coming,  Teddy  !  Bless  you,  dear  Miss  Linda ! " 
No  priest  was  by,  so  sudden  was  her  going. 
When  Blount  came  in,  there  was  no  tenderness 
In  his  sleek,  gluttonous  look ;  although  he  tried, 
Behind  his  handkerchief,  to  play  the  mourner. 
What  will  he  do  without  a  drudge  to  tread  on  ? 
Counting  himself  a  privileged  lord  and  master, 
He  '11  condescend  to  a  new  victim  soon, 
And  make  some  patient  waiter  a  sad  loser. 

VIII. 

"  Some  patient  waiter !  "     Such  a  one  I  know. 

There  was  a  time  when  I  resolved,  if  ever 

I  could  secure  a  modest  competence, 

I  would  be  married  ;  and  the  competence    ^ 

Is  now  secure  —  but  where  is  my  resolve? 

Shall  I  conclude  't  is  all  fatality  ? 

Leave  it  to  chance,  and  take  no  active  step 

Myself  to  seek  what  I  so  hope  to  find  ? 

Accepting  it  as  heaven's  fixed  ordinance, 


224     %      The  Woman  who  Dared. 

That  man  should  change  his  single  lot  at  will, 

But  woman  be  the  sport  of  circumstance, 

A  purposeless  and  passive  accident, 

Inert  as  oysters  waiting  for  a  tide, 

But  not  like  oysters,  sure  of  what  they  wait  for  ? 

"Ah  !  woman's  strength  is  in  passivity," 

Fastidio  says,  shaking  his  wise,  wise  head, 

And  withering  me  with  a  disdainful  stare. 

Nay !  woman's  strength  is  in  developing, 

In  virtuous  ways,  all  that  is  best  in  her. 

No  superstitious  waiting  then  be  mine ! 

No  fancy  that  ifi  coy,  alluring  arts, 

Rather  than  action,  modest  and  sincere, 

Woman  most  worthily  performs  her  part. 

Here  am  I  twenty-five,  and  all  alone 

In  the  wide  world  ;  yet  having  won  the  right, 

By  my  own  effort,  to  hew  out  my  lot, 

And  create  ties  to  cheer  this  arid  waste. 

How  bleak  and  void  my  Future,  if  I  stand 

Waiting  beside  the  stream,  until  some  Prince  — 


From  Lindas  Diary.  225 

Son  of  Queen    Moonbeam   by  King  Will-o'-the 

wisp  — 

Appears,  and  jumping  from  his  gilded  boat, 
Lays  heart  and  fortune  at  my  idle  feet ! 
Ye  languid  day-dreams,  vanish  !  let  me  act ! 

But  ah  !  Fastidio  says,  "  A  woman's  wooing 
Must  always  be  offensive  to  a  man 
Of  any  dignity."     The  dignity 
That  modest  truth  can  shock  is  far  too  frail 
And  sensitive  to  mate  with  love  of  mine, 
Whose  earnestness  might  crush  the  feeble  hand 
Linked  in  its  own.     So  good  by,  dignity  ! 
I  shall  survive  the  chill  of  your  repulse. 
Defiance,  not  of  Nature's  law,  but  Custom's, 
Is  what  disturbs  Fastidio.     Does  he  think 
That  a  mans  wooing  never  is  offensive 
To  woman  s  dignity  ?     In  either  sex 
The  disaffection  is  not  prompted  by 
The  wooing  but  the  wooer  ;  love  can  never 
10*  o 


226  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Be  an  unwelcome  tribute  to  the  lover  ; 
Though  freedom  premature,  or  forwardness 
Unwarranted,  may  rightly  fail  to  win. 
And  so  I  '11  run  my  risk  ;  for  I  confess  — 
(Keep  the  unuttered  secret,  sacred  leaf!)  — 
That  there  is  one  whom  I  could  love — could  die 

for, 
Would  he  but  —  Tears  ?   Well,  tears  may  come 

from  strength 

As  well  as  weakness  :  I  '11  not  grudge  him  these  ; 
I  '11  not  despair  while  I  can  shed  a  tear. 

IX. 

I  Ve  found  him  —  seen  him  !     The  Directory 
Gave  me  his  residence.     He  keeps  a  school, 
One  for  young  ladies  only  ;  and  at  once 
My  coward  heart  hit  on  a  good  excuse 
For  calling  on  him  :  Would  he  take  a  pupil  ? 
Rachel,  my  protegee  ?     Of  course  he  would. 
A  flush  of  tender,  joyful  wonderment, 


From  Lindas  Diary.  227 

Methought,  illumed  his  face  at  seeing  me ; 

Then,  as  it  faded,  I  was  grieved  to  mark 

How   pale    and    thin    and   worn   with    care   he 

looked. 

I  took  my  leave,  promising  to  return 
Within  a  week  ;  and  on  the  outer  steps 
I  met  his  father.     "  Turn  and  walk  with  me 
A  square  or  two,"  said  I  ;  and  he  complied. 
"  What   ails    him  ? "     I    inquired.       "  Only   hard 

work  : 

He  puts  too  much  of  conscience  into  it. 
Needs  help,  but  shrinks  from  debt,  and  so  keeps 

on 

Doing  the  labor  two  or  three  should  share. 
What  shall  I  do,  Miss  Percival,  to  stop  it  ? " 
"  I  know  not,  —  only  something  must  be  done, 
And  that  at  once,"  said  I,  in  tones  which  made 
The  old  man  turn  to  get  a  look  at  me. 

I  hailed  an  omnibus,  and  there  we  parted 

What  if  I  write  Charles  Lothian  a  letter  ? 


228  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Nay,  I  '11  not  skulk  behind  a  sheet  of  paper, 
But  face  to  face  say  what  I  have  to  say. 
This  very  evening  must  I  call  again. 
Let  a  firm  will  bear  up  my  fainting  heart ! 

x. 

And  so  at  eight  o'clock  the  carriage  came, 

And  entering  it  I  drove  to  Lothian's. 

At  last  I  was  alone  with  him  once  more ! 

He  had  been  sitting  at  a  table  heaped 

With  manuscripts,  and  these  he  was  correcting. 

"  I  'm  here  to  interrupt  all  this,"  said  I ; 

"Too   long   you  Ve   kept   your   brain   upon  the 

stretch  : 

Why  be  so  heedless  of  your  health,  your  life'?" 
"  But  what  are  they  to  you,  Miss  Percival  ? " 
"And  that  is  what  I  Ve  come  to  let  you  know," 
Said  I,  emboldened  by  the  offered  foothold. 
He  flushed  a  little,  only  just  a  little,  — 
Replying,  "  That  I  'm  curious  to  learn." 


From  Lindas  Diary.  229 

And  then,  like  one  who,  in  the  dark,  at  first 

Moves  cautiously,  but  soon  runs  boldly  on, 

I  said  :  "  Rash  gambler  that  I  am,  I  Ve  come 

To  put  upon  the  hazard  of  a  die 

Much  of  my  present  and  my  future  peace ; 

Perhaps  to  shock,  repel,  and  anger  you, 

Since  't  will  not  be  unwarned  that  I  offend. 

I  know  you  guess  my  purpose,  and  you  shrink  * 

From  hearing  me  avow  it ;  but  I  will, 

And  that  in  homely  English  unadorned. 

I  'm  here  to  offer  you  my  hand  ;  the  heart 

That  should  go  with  it  has  preceded  it, 

And  dwells  with  you,  so  you  can  claim  your  own, 

Or  gently  bid  it  go,  to  trouble  you 

Never  again.     If 't  is  unwomanly 

This  to  avow,  then  I  'm  unlike  my  sex, 

Not  false  to  my  own  nature,  —  ah  !  not  false. 

I  must  be  true  or  die  ;  I  cannot  play 

A  masker's  part,  disguising  hopes  that  cling 

Nearest  my  brooding  heart.     But,  say  the  word, 


230  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

'  I  cannot  love  you,'  and  the  bird  who  leaves 
The  cage  where  he  has  pined  will  sooner  try 
To  enter  it  again,  than  I  return 
To  utter  plaint  of  mine  within  your  hearing  " 

With  throbbing  heart  and  burning  face  I  ceased. 
Twice,  thrice  he  tried  to  stop  me  ;  but  my  words 
Came  all  too  quick  and  earnestly  for  that. 
And  then  resigned  he  listened.     I  had  seen, 
Or  dreamed  I  had,  at  first  a  sacred  joy 
At.  my  avowal  sparkle  in  his  eyes, 
And  then  an  utter  sadness  follow  it, 
Which  chilled  me,  and  I  knew  that  I  had  failed. 

"  O  divine  Pity  !  what  will  you  not  brave  ? " 
He  answered,  and  the  dew  was  in  his  eyes,  — 
"You  bring  her  here,  even  to  abase  herself 
To  rescue  me  !     Too  costly  sacrifice  ! 
Here  do  not  dwell  the  Graces  and  the  Loves, 
But  Drudgery  is  master  of  the  house. 


From  Lindas  Diary.  231 

Dear  lady,  elsewhere  seek  the  answering  bloom." 
A  hope  flashed  up.     "Do  you  suppose,"  said  I, 
"  That  any  impulse  less  supreme  than  love  — 
Love  bold  to  venture,  but  intemerate  — 
Could  bring  me  here  —  that  Pity  could  do  this  ? " 

"  I  believe  all,"  he  answered,  "  all  you  say  ; 
But  do  not  bid  me  whisper  more  than  this  : 
The  circumstances  that  environ  me, 
And   which   none   know,  —  not   even  my  father 

knows,  — 

Shut  me  out  utterly  from  any  hope 
Of  marriage  or  of  love.     A  wretch  in  prison 
Might  better  dream  of  marrying  than  I. 
But  O  sweet  lady  !  rashly  generous,  — 
Around  whom,  a  protecting  atmosphere, 
Floats  Purity,  and  sends  her  messengers 
With  flaming  swords  to  guard  each  avenue 
From  thoughts  unholy  and  approaches  base,  — 
Thou  who  hast  made  an  act  I  deemed  uncomely 


232  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Seem  beautiful  and  gracious,  —  do  not  doubt 
My  memory  of  thy  worth  shall  be  the  same, 
Only  expanded,  lifted  up,  and  touched 
With  light  as  dear  as  sunset  radiance 
To  summer  trees  after  a  thunder-storm." 

And  there  was  silence  then  between  us  two. 
Thought  of  myself  was  lost  in  thought  for  him. 
What  was  my  wreck  of  joy,  compared  with  his  ? 
Health,  youth,  and  competence  were  mine,  and 

.       he 

Was  staking  all  of  his  to  save  another. 
If  my  winged  hopes  fell  fluttering  to  the  ground, 
Regrets  and  disappointments  were  forgotten 
In  the  reflection,  He,  then,  is  unhappy ! 
"Good  by!"  at  length  I  said,  giving  my  hand: 
"  Even  as  I  was  believed,  will  I  believe. 
You  do  not  deal  in  hollow  compliment ; 
And  we  shall  meet  again  if  you  're  content. 
The  good  time  will  return  —  and  I  '11  return  ! " 


From  Linda 's  Diary.  233 

i 

"If  you  return,  the  good  time  will  return 
And  stay  as  long  as  you  remain,"  said  he. 

XI. 

It  is  as  I  supposed :  an  obstacle 

Which  his  assumption  of  his  father's  debts 

Has  raised  before  him  unexpectedly ! 

I  did  not  let  a  day  go  by  before 

I  saw  the  elder  Lothian,  and  he, 

Distressed  by  what  I  told  him  of  a  secret, 

Applied  himself  to  hunting  up  a  key 

To  the  mysterious  grief :  at  last  he  got  it, 

Though  not  by  means  that  I  could  justify. 

In  Charles's  private  escritoire  he  found 

A  memorandum  that  explained  it  all. 

Among  the  obligations  overlooked, 

In  settling  up  the  firm's  accounts,  was  one 

Of  fifty  thousand  dollars,  payable 

To  an  estate,  the  representatives 

Of  which  were  six  small  children  and  a  widow, 


234  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Dependent  now  on  what  they  could  derive 
Of  income  from  this  debt ;  and  manfully 
Charles  shoulders  it,  although  it  crushes  him ; 
And  hopes  to  keep  his  father  ignorant. 
I  can  command  one  quarter  of  the  sum 
Already  —  but  the  rest  ?     That  staggers  me. 
And  yet  why  should  I  falter  ?     Look  at  him  ! 
Let  his  example  be  my  high  incentive. 
I  '11  be  his  helpmate,  and  he  shall  not  know  it. 
Poor  Charles  !  I  '11  toil  for  him,  —  to  him  devote 
All  that  I  have  of  energy  and  skill, 
All  I  acquire.     Ambition  shall  not  mount 
Less  loftily  for  having  Love  to  help  it. 
Come  forth,  my  easel !     All  thy  work  has  been 
Girl's  play  till  now ;  now  will  I  truly  venture. 
I  Ve  a  new  object  now  —  to  rescue  him  ! 
And  he  shall  never  know  his  rescuer 
From  lips  of  mine,  —  no,  though  I  die  for  it, 
With  the  sweet  secret  undisclosed,  —  my  heart 
Glad  in  the  love  he  never  may  requite  ! 


VIII. 

FROM    MEREDITH'S    DIARY. 

I. 

T  NCALCULABLY  selfish  and  corrupt, 
Well  may  man  need  a  sacrifice  divine 
To  expiate  infinity  of  sin. 
Few  but  a  priest  can  know  the  fearful  depth 
Of  human  wickedness.     At  times  I  shrink 
Faint  and  amazed  at  what  I  have  to  learn  : 
And  then  I  wonder  that  the  Saviour  said 
His  yoke  is  easy  and  his  burden  light. 
Ah  !  how  these  very  murmurs  at  my  lot 


236  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Show  that  not  yet  into  my  heart  has  crept 
That  peace  of  God  which  passeth  understanding  ! 

ii. 

Among  my  hearers  lately  there  has  been 

A  lady  all  attention  to  my  words  : 

Thrice  have  I  seen  that  she  was  deeply  moved  ; 

And  to  confession  yesterday  she  came. 

Let  me  here  call  her  Harriet.     She  is 

By  education  Protestant,  but  wavers, 

Feeling  the  ground  beneath  her  insecure, 

And  would  be  led  unto  the  rock  that  is 

Higher  than  she.     A  valuable  convert ; 

Not    young ;    in    feeble   health ;    taxed   for   two 

millions  ; 

And  she  would  found,  out  of  her  ample  means, 
A  home  for  orphans  and  neglected  children. 
Heaven  give  me  power  to  lead  the  stray  one  safe 
Into  the  only  fold  ;  securing  thus 
Aid  for  the  church,  salvation  for  herself ! 


From  Merediths  Diary.  237 

in. 

A  summons  took  me  to  her  house  to-day. 
Her  mother  and  her  step-father  compose 
With  Harriet  the  household.     I  refrain 
From  putting  real  names  on  paper  here. 
Let  me  then  call  the  man's  name,  Denison  ; 
He 's  somewhat  younger  than  his  wife,  a  lady 
Advanced  in  years,  but  her  heart  wholly  set 
On  the  frivolities  of  fashion  still. 
I  see  the  situation  at  a  glance  : 
A  mercenary  marriage  on  the  part 
Of  Denison,  whose  hungry  eyes  are  fixed 
Upon  the  daughter's  property  ;  the  mother 
Under  his  evil  influence,  and  expecting 
The  daughter  to  die  soon,  without  a  will, 
Thus  leaving  all  to  them  ;  —  and  Harriet 
Not  quite  so  dull  but  she  can  penetrate 
Denison's  motive  and  her  mother's  hope! 
A  sad  state  for  an  invalid  who  feels 
That  any  hour  may  be  her  last !     To-day 


238  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Harriet  confessed ;  for  she  has  been  alarmed 
By  some  bad  symptoms  lately.     As  she  urged  it, 
I  sent  word  to  the  bishop,  and  he  came, 
And  she  was  formally  confirmed,  and  taken 
Unto  the  bosom  of  the  Church,  and  there 
May  her  poor  toiling  spirit  find  repose ! 

IV. 

Another  summons  !     In  the  drawing-room, 
Whom  should  I  meet  but  Denison  ?     His  stare 
Had  something  vicious  in  it ;  but  we  bowed, 
And  he  remarked  :    "  I  hear  that  Harriet, 
Caught  in  your  Catholic  net,  is  turning  saint. 
No  foul  play,  priest !     She  's  not  in  a  condition 
To  make  a  will,  or  give  away  her  money. 
Remember  that,  and  do  not  waste  your  words." 
My  color  rose,  and  the  brute  Adam  in  me 
Would,  uncontrolled,  have   surely  knocked   him 

down. 
But  I  cast  off  temptation,  and  replied : 


From  Meredith's  Diary.  239 

"  Sir,  I  'm  responsible  to  God,  not  man." 

I  left  him,  and  passed  on  to  Harriet. 

I  found  her  greatly  moved  ;  an  interview 

She  had  been  having  with  her  mother  caused 

The  agitation.     "  Take  me  hence  ! "  she  cried  ; 

"  I  '11  not  remain  another  day  or  hour 

Under  this  roof.     I  tell  you,  I  'm  not  safe 

With   these  two,  watching,  dogging,  maddening 

me." 

She  rang  the  bell,  and  to  the  servant  said : 
"  My  carriage,  and  that  quickly  !  "     Then  to  me  : 
"  I  '11  show  them  that  I  'm  mistress  of  my  fortune 
And  of  myself.     Call  on  me  in  an  hour 
At  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  for  there 
Henceforth  I  make  my  home."     And  there 
I.  called,  as  she  had  ordered,  and  we  met 
In  her  own  parlor.     "  What  I  wish,"  said  she, 
"  Is  to  give  all  I  have,  without  reserve, 
For    the   foundation   that   I  've   planned.      I  '11 

send 


240  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Directions  to  my  lawyer,  and  the  papers 

Shall  be  prepared  at  once."  —  "  Before  you  do  it, 

Let  me  learn  more  of  you  and  yours,"  said  I  : 

"  Who  was  your  father  ? "     Then,  to  my  surprise, 

I  learnt  that  he  was  one  whom  I  had  met 

Some  years  before,  —  in  his  death-hour  had  met. 

"  But  you  Ve  a  sister  ? "  suddenly  I  asked. 

Surprised,  she  answered  :    "  A  half-sister  —  yes  — 

I  Ve  seen  her  only  once ;  for  many  years 

I  lived  in  Europe  ;  she  's  in  England  now, 

And  married  happily.     On  three  occasions 

I  Ve  sent  her  money."  —  "  Do  you  correspond  ? " 

"  Not  often  ;  here  are  letters  from  her,  full 

Of  thanks  for  all  I  Ve  given  her."  — "  In  your 

will 

Shall  you  remember  her  ?  "  —  "  If  you  advise  it.".. 
"  Then  I  advise  a  liberal  bequest. 
And  now  I  must  attend  a  sufferer 
Who  waits   my  help." --"  Father,  I  would   con 
fess." 


From  Meredith 's  Diary.  241 

"  Daughter,  be  quick  :  I  listen."     Harriet 

Then  gave  a  sad  recital  of  a  trial 

And  a  divorce  ;  and  (but  reluctantly) 

Told  of  a  terrible  suspicion,  born 

Of  a  remark,  dropped  by  a  servant  once, 

Concerning  her  unlikeness  to  her  father : 

But  never  could  she  wring  a  confirmation 

Of  the  distressing  story  from  her  mother. 

"  Tell  her,"  said  I,  "  you  mean  to  leave  your  sister 

A  handsome  legacy."     She  promised  this. 

Then  saying  I  would  call  the  following  day, 

I  hurried  off  to  see  poor  Ellen  Blount. 

v. 

A  new  surprise !    There,  by  the  patient's  bed, 
I  came  on  Linda,  Harriet's  half-sister ! 
(Reputed  so,  at  least,  but  here  's  a  doubt.) 
I  questioned  her,  and  now  am  satisfied 
Treason  and  forgery  have  been  at  work, 
Defeating  Harriet's  sisterly  intent ; 


242  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Moreover,  that  the  harrowing  surmise, 
Waked  by  a  servant's  gossip  overheard, 
Is,  in  all  probability,  the  truth ! 
And,  if  we  so  accept  it,  what  can  I 
Advise  but  Harriet's  complete  surrender 
Of  all  her  fortune  to  the  real  child 
And  proper  heir  of  Albert  Percival  ? 
But  ah  !  't  is  now  devoted  to  the  Church  ! 
Here  's  a  divided  duty  ;  I  must  lay 
The  case  before  a  higher  power  than  mine. 

VI. 

I  Ve  had  a  long  discussion  with  the  bishop. 
I  placed  before  him  all  the  facts,  beginning 
With  those  of  my  own  presence  at  the  death 
Of  Linda's  parents  ;  of  her  father's  letter 
Received  that  day,  communicating  news 
Of  Kenrick's  large  bequest ;  the  father's  effort 
In  dying  to  convey  in  legal  form 
To  his  child  Linda  all  this  property  ; 


From  Meredith's  Diary.  243 

The  failure  of  the  effort ;  his  decease, 

And  all  I  knew  of  subsequent  events. 

And  the  good  bishop,  after  careful  thought, 

Replied  :  "Some  way  the  mother  must  be  brought 

To  full  confession.     Of  her  guilt  no  doubt !  " 

I  told  him  I  had  charged  it  on  the  daughter 

To  tell  her  mother  of  the  legacy 

Designed  for  Linda  ;  this,  perchance,  might  wring 

Confession  from  the  guilty  one.     He  seemed 

To  think  it  not  unlikely,  and  remarked  : 

"  When  that  is  got,  there  's  but  a  single  course 

For  you  to  urge  on  Harriet ;  for,  my  son, 

I  need  not  tell  a  Christian  gentleman, 

Not  to  say  priest,  that  this  peculiar  case 

We  must  decide  precisely  as  we  would 

If  the  Church  had  in  it  no  interest : 

Let  Harriet  at  once  give  up,  convey, 

Not  bequeath  merely,  all  she  has  to  Linda. 

Till  she  does  this,  her  soul  will  be  in  peril ; 

When  she  does  this,  she  shall  be  made  the  ward 


244  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Of  Holy  Church,  and  cared  for  to  the  end." 
I  kissed  his  hand  and  left.    How  his  high  thoughts 
Poured  round  my  path  a  flood  of  light  divine  ! 
Why  did  I  hesitate,  since  he  could  make 
The  path  of  duty  so  directly  clear ! 

VII. 

Harriet's  intimation  to  her  mother 

That  she  should  leave  a  good  part  of  her  wealth 

To  her  half-sister  brought  things  to  a  crisis. 

To-day  my  visit  found  the  two  together  : 

Harriet,  in  an  agony  of  tears, 

Cried  to  me,  as  I  entered,  —  "  'T  is  all  true  ! 

God  !    She  confesses  it  —  confesses  it ! 

Confesses,  too,  she  never  sent  the  money, 

And  that  the  letters  were  all  forgeries ! 

And  thinks,  by  this  confession,  to  secure 

My  fortune  to  herself!     Ah  !     Can  this  woman 

Be,  then,  my  mother  ? " 

Hereupon  the  woman, 


From  Meredith's  Diary.  245 

Crimson  with  rage  at  being  thus  exposed, 
Exclaimed,    "Unnatural   daughter — "      But  be 
fore 

Her  wrath  could  vent  itself,  she,  with  a  groan, 
Fell  in  convulsions.     Medical  assistance 
Was  had  at  once.     Then  Denison  came  in, 
Aghast  at  what  had  happened  ;  for  he  knew 
His  wife's  estate  was  all  in  lands  and  houses, 
And  would,  if  she  should  die,  be  Harriet's, 
Since  the  old  lady  superstitiously 
Had  still  put  off  the  making  of  a  will. 
All  help  was  vain,  and  drugs  were  powerless. 
Paralysis  had  struck  the  heated  brain, 
Driving  from  mortal  hold  the  consciousness : 
It  reappeared  not  in  one  outward  sign, 
And  before  midnight  life  had  left  the  clay. 

VIII. 

Meek  and  submissive  as  a  little  child 
Is  Harriet  now  ;  she  has  no  will  but  that 


246  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

The  Church  imposes  as  the  will  divine. 

"  Your  fortune,  nearly  doubled  by  this  death, 

Must  all/'  said  I,  "  be  now  conveyed  to  Linda." 

"  Let  it  be  done,"  she  cried,  "  before  I  sleep !  " 

And  it  was  done  to-night  —  securely  done,  — 

I  being  Linda's  representative. 

To-morrow  I  must  take  her  the  good  news. 

IX. 

After  the  storm,  the  rainbow,  child  of  light ! 
Such  the  transition,  as  I  pass  to  Linda ! 
I  found  her  hard  at  work  upon  a  picture. 
With  wonder   at   Heaven's  ways   she  heard  my 

news. 

Shocked  at  the  tragic  death,  she  did  not  hide 
Her  satisfaction  at  the  tardy  act 
Bringing  the  restitution  of  her  own. 
Three  things  she  asked  ;   one  was  that  I  would 

place 
At  once  a  certain  person  in  possession 


From  Meredittis  Diary.  247 

Of  a  large  sum,  not  letting  him  find  out 
From  whom  it  came  ;  another  was  to  have 
This  great  change  in  her  fortunes  kept  a  secret 
As  long  as  she  might  wish ;  the  third  and  last 
Was  that  she  might  be  privileged  to  wait 
On  Harriet  with  a  sister's  loving  care. 
All  which  I  promised  readily  should  be, 
So  far  as  my  poor  human  will  could  order. 
Said  Linda  then :  "Tell  Harriet,  her  scheme 
For  others'  welfare  shall  not  wholly  fail ; 
That  in  your  hands  I  '11  place  a  sum  sufficient 
To  plant  the  germ  at  least  of  what  she  planned." 

x. 

I  Ve  taken  my  last  look  of  Harriet : 

She  died  in  Linda's  arms,  and  comforted 

With  all  the  Church  could  give  of  heavenly  hope. 

Slowly  and  imperceptibly  does  Time 

Work  out  the  dreadful  problem  of  our  sins ! 

Not  often  do  we  see  it  solved  as  here 


248  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

In  plain  results  which  he  who  runs  may  read. 
Not  always  is  the  sinner's  punishment 
Shown  in  this  world.     May  the  Eternal  Mercy 
Cleanse  us  from  secret  faults,  nor,  while  we  mark 
Another's  foulness,  blind  us  to  our  own ! 


IX. 

BESIDE    THE    LAKE. 

r  I  ^HE  sun  of  August  from  a  clear  blue  sky 

Shone  on  Lake  Saranac.     The  South-wind 

stirred 

Mildly  the  woods  encircling,  that  threw  down 
A  purple  shadow  on  the  liquid  smoothness 
Glassing  the  eastern  border,  while  the  west 
Lay  bared  to  light. 

Wild,  virgin  nature  all ! 

Except  that  here  and  there  a  partial  clearing, 
ii* 


250  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

Made  by  the  sportsman's  axe  for  summer  tents, 
Dented  the  massive  verdure,  and  revealed 
A  little  slope  of  bank,  dotted  with  stumps 
And  brown  with  slender  aromatic  leaves 
Shed  from  the  pine,  the  hemlock,  and  the  fir 
In  layers  that  gave  a  soft  and  slippery  carpet. 

Near  one   of   these   small    openings   where   the 

breeze 

Crept  resinous  and  cool  from  evergreens 
Behind  them,  while   the    sun   blazed   bright   be 
fore,  — 

Where  with  the  pine-trees'  vapory  depth  of  hue 
The  whiteness  of  a  spacious  tent  contrasted, 
Beside  which,  on  a  staff,  the  nation's  flag 
Flung  out  its  crimson  with  protecting  pride,  — 
Reclined  a  wife  and  husband,  looking  down 
Less  on  the  glorious  lake  than  on  the  glory 
That,   through   a   gauzy  veil,   played   round   the 
head 


Beside  the  Lake.  251 

Of  a  reposing  infant,  golden-tressed, 

Asleep  upon  a  deer-skin  at  their  feet, 

While  a  huge  dog  kept  watchful  guard  beyond  : 

For  there  lay  little  Mary  Merivale. 

Boats  on  the  lake  showed  that  this  group  de 
tached 

Were  part  of  a  well-chosen  company. 

Here  children  ran  and  frolicked  on  the  beach  ; 

There  an  old  man,  rowed  by  two  guides,  stood 
up 

With  rod  and  line  and  reel,  while  swiftly  flew 

The  reel,  announcing  that  a  vigorous  trout 

Just  then  had  seized  the  hook.  Came  the  loud 
cry,— 

"  Look,  Charles  !     Look,    Linda !     See   me   land 

him  now  ! 

0 

Don't  touch  him  with  your  scoop,  men  !     I  can 

fetch  him,"  — 
In  tones  not  unfamiliar  to  our  ears. 


252  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

And   there,  six  boats  swept  by,  from  which  the 

voices 

Of  merry  children  and  their  elder  friends  - 
Mothers  and  fathers,  teachers,  faded  aunts, 
Dyspeptic  uncles,  wonderfully  cured 
All  by  this  tonic,  Adirondack  air  — 
Came  musical  and  loud  :  a  strange  collection, 
Winnowed  by  Rachel  (now  the  important  queen 
Of  all  this  sanitary  revelry) 
From  her  acquaintance  in  the  public  schools  ; 
Whence  her  quick  sympathies  had  carried  her 
Straight  to  the  overworked,  the  poor,  the  ailing, 
Among  the  families  of  her  associates, 
When  Linda  planned  this  happy  enterprise 
Of  a  grand  camping-out  for  one  whole  month. 
The  blind  aunt  and  the  grandmother,  of  course, 
High  and  important  persons,  Rachel's  aids, 
Graced  the  occasion  ;  for  the  ancient  dame 
Had  lived  in  such  a  region  in  her  youth, 
And  in  all  sylvan  craft  was  proudly  wise : 


Beside  the  Lake.  253 

Declaring  that  this  taste  of  life  would  add 
Some  ten  years  to  her  eighty-five,  at  least. 

On  went  the  boats,  all  large  and  safely  manned, 
In  competition  not  too  venturesome. 

<? 

Then,  from  a  rocky  outlook  on  the  hill, 
There  came  a  gush  of  music  from  a  band, 
Employed  to  cheer  with  timely  melody 
This  strange  encampment  in  the  wilderness. 
Hark  !     Every  voice  is  hushed  as  down  the  lake 
The  breathing  clarions  accordant  send 
The  tune  of  "  Love  Not "  to  each  eager  ear ! 
The  very  infant,  in  its  slumber,  smiled 
As  if  a  dream  of  some  old  paradise 
Had  been  awakened  by  the  ravishment. 

"Look  at  the  child!"  cried  Linda;  "mark  that 

smile ! 

All  heaven  reflected  in  a  dew-drop  !     See  !  " 
"  And  all  the  world  grasped  in  that  little  fist,  — 


254  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

At  least  as  we  esteem  the  world  !  "  cried  Charles. 

"And  yet,"  said  Linda,  "  't  is  a  glorious  world  : 

See  how  those  families  enjoy  themselves  ! " 

"  And  who  created  all  this  happiness  ? " 

The  husband  said,  —  "who,  after  God,  but  Linda? 

Who  spends  her  money,  not  in  rearing  piles 

Of  cold  and  costly  marble  for  her  pride,  — 

Not  in  great  banquets  for  the  rich  and  gay 

Who  need  them   not,  and   laugh   at   those   who 

give,  — 

Where,  at  one  feast,  enough  is  spent  to  make 
All  these  poor  people  radiant  for  a  month,  — 
But  in  exhilarations  coming  from 
Communicated  joy  and  health  and  life,  — 
The  happiness  that  's  found  in  making  happy." 

"All  selfishness  !"  cried  Linda  ;  «  selfishness  ! 
I  seek  my  happiness,  and  others  theirs ; 
Only  my  tastes  are  different ;  more  plebeian, 
Haply,  they  'd  say  ;  but,  husband  mine,  reflect ! 


Beside  the  Lake.  255 

You,  too,  I  fear,  are  lacking  in  refinement : 
Would  this  have  been,  had  you  not  acquiesced 
In  all  these  vulgar  freaks,  and  found  content, 
Like  me,  in  giving  pleasure  to  the  needy  ? 
And  tell  me  —  passing  to  another  point  — 
Where  would  have  been  the  monarch  of  this  joy, 
That  little  child,  —  that  antepast  of  bliss 
Such  as  the  angels  taste,  —  had  I  recoiled 
From  daring  as  I  did,  even  when  I  knew 
He  I  most  wished  to  win  would  think  me  bold  ? " 

"Ah!    little   wife,"    cried    Charles,  "I  Ve  half  a 

mind 

To  tell  you  what  I  Ve  never  told  you  yet . 
Yes,  I  will  tell  you  all,  although  it  may 
End  the  complacent  thought  that  Linda  did  it  — 
Did  it  by  simply  daring  to  propose  ! 
Know,  then,  a  constant  track  of  you  I  kept, 
Even  while  I  seemed  to  shun  you.      I  could  kneel 
Before  your  recollection  in  my  heart, 


256  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

When  you  regarded  me  as  shy  and  cold. 
And,  while  by  poverty  held  reticent, 
I  saw,  supreme  among  my  hopes,  but  Linda! 
Before  we  left  the  sea-side  I  had  learnt, 
Through  gossip  of  my  worthy  landlady, 
Where  you  would  go,  returning  to  New  York. 
I  found  your  house  ;  I  passed  it  more  than  once 
When,  like  a  beacon,  shone  your  study-lamp. 
The  very  night  before  you  called  upon  me 
To  ask,  would  I  take  Rachel  as  my  pupil, 
(How  kind  in  you  to  patronize  my  school ! ) 
I  sought  an  anodyne  for  my  despair 
In  watching  for  your  shadow  on  the  curtain. 

"  Discovery  of  that  unexpected  debt, 
Owed  by  my  father,  killed  the  last  faint  hope 
Which  I  had  cherished  ;  and  our  interview  — 
Your  daring  offer  of  this  little  hand  — 
But  made  me  emulous  to  equal  you 
In  self-renouncing  generosity ; 


Beside  the  Lake.  257 

And  so,  I  frankly  told  you  what  I  told : 
That  love  and  marriage  were  not  in  my  lot. 

"  Ten  days  elapsed,  and  then  from  utter  gloom 
I  sprang  to  cheerful  light.     My  father's  partner, 
The  man  named  Judd,  who  robbed  us  all  one  day, 
Had  a  compunctious  interval,  and  sent 
A  hundred  thousand  dollars  back  to  us  — 
Why  do  you  smile  ?  " 

"  Go  on.     'T  is  worth  a  smile." 

"  That  very  day  I  cleared  myself  from  debt ; 
That  very  day  I  sued  for  Linda's  hand  ; 
That  very  day  she  gave  it  willingly  ; 
And  the  next  month  beheld  us  two  made  o'he. 
And  so  it  would  have  been,  if  you,  my  dear, 
Had  made  no  sign,  and  waited  patiently. 
But  ah  !  what  luck  was  mine  !     After  two  days, 
The  news  arrived  that  Linda  was  an  heiress. 
An  heiress !     Think  of  it ;  and  I  had  said, 

Q 


258  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

Never,  no,  riever  would  I  wed  an  heiress ! 

But 't  was  too  late  for  scruples  ;  I  was  married,  — 

Caught  in  the  trap  I  always  meant  to  shun  ! " 

Then  Linda,  mischief  in  her  smile,  exclaimed : 
"  O  simple  Charles !  The  innocent  dear  man  ! 
Who  doubts  but  woman  ought  to  hold  her 

tongue, 

And  wait  till  he,  the  preordained,  appear  ? 
That  hundred  thousand  dollars,  you  are  sure, 
Was  from  your  father's  partner  —  was  from  Judd?" 

"Of  course  it  was,  —  from  Judd,  and  no  one  else  ! 
Who  could  have  sent  the  money,  if  not  Judd  ? 
No  doubt  it  came  from  Judd !     My  father  said, 
'T  was  conscience-money,  and  restored  by  Judd, 
Who  had  become  a  deacon  in  the  Church. 
Why  did  you  ask  me  whether  I  was  sure 
The  hundred  thousand  dollars  came  from  Judd  ? 
What  are  you  smiling  at,  provoking  Linda  ?  " 


Beside  the  Lake.  259 

"  O,  you  're  so  quick,  so  clever,  all  you  men ! 

And  women  are  so  dull  and  credulous, 

So  easily  duped,  when  left  to  go  alone  ! 

What  you  would  prove  is,  that  my  daring  step, 

In  being  first  to  make  a  declaration, 

Was  needless,  since  priority  in  love 

Was  yours,  and  your  intention  would  have  brought 

The  same  result  about  without  my  seeking. 

Know  then,  the  money  was  not  yours  until 

I  'd  got  the  news  of  my  recovered  fortune ; 

From  me  the  money  came,  and  only  me ; 

And  all  that  story  of  a  Judd,  turned  deacon, 

Grown  penitent  and  making  restitution, 

Was  a  mere  myth,  invented  by  your  father, 

Lest  you  might  hesitate  to  take  the  money. 

Now  if  I  had  not  sought  you  as  I  did, 

And  if  I  had  not  put  you  to  the  test, 

And  if  I  had  not  learnt  your  secret  grief, 

We  might  have  lived  till  we  were  gray  and  bent 

Before  a  step  of  yours  had  brought  us  nearer." 


260  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

"  Outflanked  !     I  own  it,  and  I  give  it  up  !  " 
Cried  Charles,  all  flushing  with  astonishment : 
"  But  how  I  '11  rate  that  ancient  fisherman, 
My  graceless  father,  for  deceiving  me  ! 
See  him  stand  there,  as  if  with  conscience  void, 
Throwing  the  line  for  innocent,  fat  trout ! 
With  that  grave  face,  saying  the  money  came 
From  Judd,  —  from  Deacon  Judd  !     I  '11  deacon 
him ! " 

"  What !  you  regret  it,  do  you,  Master  Charles  ? 
The  crooked  ways  that  brought  you  where  you  are 
You  would  make  straight,  and  have  the  past  un 
done  ? 

To  think  that  by  a  woman  you  Ve  been  wooed, 
To  think  that  by  a  woman  you  Ve  been  won, 
Is  thought  too  humbling  and  too  scandalous ; 
Is  an  indignity  too  hard  to  bear ! 
Oh !   well,  sir,  well ;  do  as  you  please  ;  the  child 
Goes  with  its  mother,  though  ;  remember  that." 


Beside  the  Lake.  261 

And  here  the  infant  threw  its  eyelids  back, 

Revealing  orbs,  blue  as  the  shadows  cast 

On  Saranac's  blue  by  overhanging  woods. 

Said  Lothian,  snatching  up  the  smiling  wonder, 

And  handing  it,  with  kisses,  to  the  mother  : 

"  Take  all  your  woman's  rights ;    even  this,  the 

best: 

Are  we  not  each  the  richer  by  the  sharing 
Of  such  a  gift  ?     I  '11  not  regret  your  daring." 


NOTES. 

PAGE  n. 

"Oh  !  lacking  love  and  best  experience." 

An  extreme  Materialism  here  comes  to  the  support  of  a 
grim  theology.  In  his  "  Physiology  and  Pathology  of  the  Mind," 
Dr.  Maudsley  says:  "To  talk  about  the  purity  and  innocence 
of  a  child's  mind  is  a  part  of  that  poetical  idealism  and  willing 
hypocrisy  by  which  man  ignores  realities  and  delights  to  walk 
in  a  vain  show."  Such  sweeping  generalizations  do  not  inspire 
confidence  in  the  writer's  prudence.  Christ  was  nearer  the  truth 
when  he  said,  concerning  little  children,  —  "Of  such  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven." 

PAGE  64. 

"  Few  honorable  outlooks  for  support. 
Excepting  marriage" 

Referring  to  the  fact  that  in  Massachusetts,  during  the  ten 
years  from  1859  to  1869,  the  increase  of  crime  among  women  has 
been  much  greater  than  among  men,  Miss  Catherine  Beecher  re 
marks  :  "  But  turning  from  these  (the  criminal  class)  to  the  daugh 
ters  of  the  most  wealthy  class,  those  who  have  generous  and 
devoted  aspirations  also  feel  that  for  them,  too,  there  is  no  open 
ing,  no  promotion,  no  career,  except  that  of  marriage,  — and  for 
this  they  are  trained  to  feel  that  it  is  disgraceful  to  seek.  They  have 
nothing  to  do  but  wait  to  be  sought.  Trained  to  belike  marriage 
their  highest  boon,  they  are  disgraced  for  seeking  it,  and  must  affect 
indifference. 

"  Meantime  to  do  anything  to  earn  their  own  independence  is 
what  father  and  brothers  would  deem  a  disgrace  to  themselves 


264  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

and  their  family.  For  women  of  high  position  to  work  for  their 
livelihood,  in  most  cases  custom  decrees  as  disgraceful.  And 
then,  if  cast  down  by  poverty,  they  have  been  trained  to  nothing 
that  would  earn  a  support,  or,  if  by  chance  they  have  some 
resource,  all  avenues  for  its  employment  are  thronged  with  needy 
applicants." 

This  is  but  a  very  mild  statement  of  the  social  fictions  under 
which  woman  is  now  suffering  in  mind,  body,  and  estate ;  but  it 
is  valuable  as  coming  from  a  witness  who  hopes  that  some  less 
radical  remedy  than  female  suffrage  will  be  found  for  existing 
evils.  If  the  remedy  lies  with  woman  herself,  as  all  admit,  how 
can  we  expect  her  to  act  efficiently  until  she  is  a  modifying  force 
in  legislation  ? 

PAGE  65. 
"  Unions,  no  priest \  no  church  can  sanctify'1' 

"  The  most  absurd  notions,"  says  J.  A.  St.  John,  "  have  pre 
vailed  on  the  subject  of  matrimony.  Marriage,  it  is  said,  is  a 
divine  institution,  therefore  marriages  are  made  in  heaven  ;  but 
the  consequence  does  not  at  all  follow  ;  the  meaning  of  the  for 
mer  proposition  simply  being  that  God  originally  ordained  that 
men  and  women  should  be  united  in  wedlock  ;  but  that  he  de 
termined  what  particular  men  and  women  should  be  united, 
every  day's  experience  proves  to  be  false.  It  is  admitted  on  all 
hands  that  marriage  is  intended  to  confer  happiness  on  those 
who  wed.  Now,  if  it  be  found  that  marriage  does  not  confer 
happiness  on  them,  it  is  an  undoubted  proof  that  they  ought  not 
to  have  been  united,  and  that  the  sooner  they  separate  the  better ; 
but  from  accepting  this  doctrine  some  persons  are  deterred  by 
misrepresentations  of  scripture,  others  by  views  of  policy,  and 
others  again  by  an  entire  indifference  to  human  happiness.  They 
regard  men  and  women  as  mere  animals,  and,  provided  they  have 
children,  and  rear  them,  nothing  more." 

"  It  is  incredible,"  says  Milton,  "  how  cold,  how  dull,  and  far 
from  all  fellow-feeling  we  are,  without  the  spur  of  self-concern 
ment!" 


Notes.  265 

PAGE  72. 
"  Behold  the  world's  ideal  of  a  wife  !  " 

"  All  women,"  says  John  Stuart  Mill,  "  are  brought  up  from 
their  very  earliest  years  in  the  belief  that  their  ideal  character  is 
the  very  opposite  to  that  of  man  ;  not  self-will  and  self-govern 
ment  by  self-control,  but  submission  and  yielding  to  the  control 

of  others What  is  now  called  the  nature  of  women  is  an 

eminently  artificial  thing,  —  the  result  of  forced  repression  in 
some  directions,  unnatural  stimulation  in  others." 

The  cowardice  that  is  looked  upon  as  disgraceful  in  a  man  is 
regarded  by  many  as  rather  honorable  than  otherwise  in  a  woman. 
False  notions,  inherited  from  chivalrous  times,  and  growing  out 
of  the  state  of  subjection  in  which  woman  has  been  bred,  have 
generated  this  inconsistency.  The  truth  is  that  courage  is  hon 
orable  to  both  sexes  ;  to  a  Grace  Darling  and  an  Ida  Lewis, 
a  Madame  Roland  and  a  Florence  Nightingale,  as  well  as  to  a 
Bayard  and  a  Shaw,  a  Napoleon  and  a  Farragut. 

PAGE  73. 

"  That  moment  should  the  intimate  relations 
Of  marriage  end,  and  a  release  be  found  !  " 

In  the  United  States  the  action  of  certain  State  legislatures,  in 
increasing  the  facilities  for  divorce,  has  been  a  subject  of  alarm 
among  persons  bred  under  the  influences  of  a  more  conservative 
system.  It  would  be  difficult  to  show  as  yet  whether  social  mo 
rality  is  harmed  or  helped  by  the  increased  freedom.  Nothing 
can  be  more  deceptive  and  unsatisfactory  than  the  statistics  of 
fered  on  both  sides  of  the  question.  It  is  generally  admitted,  we 
believe,  that  in  those  countries  where  divorce  is  most  difficult,  the 
number  of  illegitimate  births  is  largest,  and  the  reputation  of 
married  women  is  most  questionable.  In  the  nature  of  things, 
much  of  the  prevalent  immorality  being  furtive  and  clandestine, 
it  is  impossible  to  estimate  the  extent  of  the  evils  growing  out  of 
illiberal  laws  in  relation  to  matrimony.  In  any  legislation  on  the 
subject  women  should  have  a  voice. 


12 


266  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

PAGE  80. 

"  Unlike  the  Church,  I  look  on  marriage  as 
A  civil  contract,  not  a  sacrament" 

Kenrick  here  refers  of  course  to  the  Catholic  Church,  whose 
theory  of  marriage,  namely,  that  it  is  a  sacrament  and  indissolu 
ble,  when  once  contracted  according  to  the  forms  of  the  Church, 
still  influences  the  legislation  and  social  prejudices  of  Protestant 
communities  in  respect  to  their  own  religious  forms  of  marriage. 
It  was  not  till  the  twelfth  century,  and  under  the  auspices  of 
Pope  Innocent  III.,  that  divorce  was  prohibited  by  the  civil  as 
well  as  the  canon  law.  But  it  is  only  a  marriage  between  Cath 
olics  that  is  indissoluble  under  the  Catholic  system.  In  the  case 
of  a  marriage  of  Protestants,  the  tie  is  not  regarded  as  binding. 
A  dissolution  was  actually  granted  in  such  a  case  where  one  of 
the  parties  turned  Catholic,  in  1857,  by  the  bishop  of  Rio  Janeiro, 
who  pronounced  an  uncanonical  marriage  null  and  void.  Mod 
ern  legislation  in  establishing  the  validity  of  civil  marriages  aimed 
a  severe  blow  at  ecclesiastical  privilege. 

To  Rome  and  not  to  the  Bible  we  must  go  for  all  the  authority 
we  can  produce  for  denying  that  marriage  is  simply  a  civil  con 
tract.  The  form,  binding  one  man  to  one  woman,  had  its  origin 
outside  of  the  Bible.  Up  to  the  time  of  Charlemagne  in  the 
eighth  century,  polygamy  and  concubinage  were  common  among 
Christians  and  countenanced  by  the  Church.  Even  Luther 
seems  to  have  had  somewhat  lax,  though  not  unscriptural,  no 
tions  on  the  subject,  When  Philip,  landgrave  of  Hesse-Cassel, 
wanted  to  take  another  wife,  and  threatened  to  get  a  dispensation 
from  the  Pope  for  the  purpose,  Luther  convoked  a  synod,  com 
posed  of  six  of  his  proselytes,  who  declared  that  marriage 
is  merely  a  civil  contract ;  that  they  could  find  no  passage  in 
the  Holy  Scriptures  ordaining  monogamy;  and  they  conse 
quently  signed  a  decree  permitting  Philip  to  take  a  second  wife 
without  repudiating  his  first. 

In  that  reconstruction  of  laws,  threatened  by  the  movement  in 
behalf  of  female  suffrage,  it  is  not  probable  that  the  patriarchal 


Notes.  267 

institution  of  polygamy  will  be  regarded  otherwise  than  as  debas 
ing  to  both  sexes  ;  but  perhaps  a  greater  latitude  of  divorce  will 
be  sought  as  not  inconsistent  with  public  morality.  Looking  at 
the  question  abstractly,  and  apart  from  all  religious  and  social 
prejudice,  it  certainly  seems  the  height  of  cruelty  and  absurdity  to 
compel  parties  to  keep  up  the  relations  of  man  and  wife  when  one 
of  them  feels  towards  the  other  either  a  physical  repugnance  or 
a  moral  dislike.  The  impediments  often  raised  by  our  courts  in 
the  way  of  divorce  are  gross  relics  of  barbarism,  and  will  be 
abolished  by  a  higher  legislative  morality. 

"  Whoso,"  says  Milton,  "  prefers  either  matrimony  or  other 
ordinance  before  the  good  of  man  and  the  plain  exigence  of 
charity,  let  him  profess  Papist  or  Protestant  or  what  he  will,  he 
is  no  better  than  a  pharisee,  and  understands  not  the  gospel ; 
whom,  as  a  misinterpreter  of  Christ,  I  openly  protest  against." 
And,  in  another  passage,  he  rebukes  those  who  would  rest  "  in 
the  mere  element  of  the  text,"  as  favoring  "  the  policy  of  the 
Devil  to  make  that  gracious  ordinance  (of  marriage)  become 
insupportable,  that  what  with  men  not  daring  to  venture  upon 
wedlock,  and  what  with  men  wearied  out  of  it,  all  inordinate 
license  might  abound." 

Mr.  J.  A.  St.  John,  editor  of  the  Prose  Works  of  Milton,  remarks 
in  reference  to  the  marriage  law  as  it  now  stands  in  England  :  — 

"  Having  been  invented  and  established  by  men>  it  is  calculated 
to  bear  with  extreme  severity  on  women,  who  are  daily  subjected 
to  wrongs  and  hardships  which  they  would  not  endure,  were 
the  relief  of  divorce  open  to  them.  Those  who  take  a  different 
view  descant  upon  the  encouragement  which  would,  they  say, 
be  given  to  immorality  were  divorce  made  easy.  But  the  con 
trary  is  the  truth. 

"  It  is  in  behalf  of  morals,  and  for  the  sake  of  imparting  a 
higher  tone  to  the  feelings  of  society,  that  the  present  unnatural 
system  should  be  abolished.  Where,  what  Milton  calls,  an  un- 
conjugal  mind  exists,  there  must  be  unconjugal  manners  ;  and  to 
what  these  lead  no  one  need  be  told.  Where  marriage  is  indis 
soluble,  people  presume  upon  that  fact  to  transgress  its  laws, 


268  The   Woman  who  Dared. 

which  they  would  not  do  were  it  legally  practicable  to  obtain 
immediate  redress. 

"  However,  there  is  a  great  indisposition  in  mankind  to  inno 
vate  in  legislation  ;  and  they  had  generally  rather  be  miserable 

according  to  rule  than  free  and  happy  on  a  novel  principle 

Whenever  it  clearly  appears  that  man  and  wife  can  no  longer 
live  together  in  peace  and  harmony,  their  separation  would  be  far 
more  beneficial  to  themselves  and  favorable  to  morals,  than  their 
compulsory  union.  Milton's  notions  of  married  life  are  highly 
flattering  to  women,  whom  he  evidently  contemplates  as  the 
equal  companions  of  men." 

PAGE  156. 

"  Give  her  the  suffrage? 

In  one  of  his  pamphlets  in  behalf  of  women's  suffrage,  Pro 
fessor  F.  W.  Newman  of  England,  a  man  of  widest  culture  and 
noblest  sympathies,  and  always  among  the  ablest  and  foremost 
in  good  works,  remarks  :  "  It  is  useless  to  reply  that  women 
have  not  political  knowledge.  Hitherto  they  have  had  little  mo 
tive  to  acquire  it.  But  how  much  of  such  knowledge  have  those 
male  voters  had,  whom,  for  two  hundred  years  past,  candidates 
for  the  place  of  M.  P.  have  made  drunk  in  the  tippling-houses  ? 
The  arguments  used  against  female  suffrage  simply  show  that 
there  is  nothing  valid  to  be  said.  Women  have,  prima  fade,  the 
same  right  as  men." 

PAGE  160. 

"  Not  by  evading  or  profa.:ing  Natiire. 

In  his  recent  "  History  of  European  Morals,"  Mr.  Lecky,  re 
ferring  to  the  fact  that  the  prevalent  doctrine  is,  that  the  very 
highest  interest  of  society  is  not  to  stimulate  but  to  restrain  mul 
tiplication,  diminishing  the  number  of  marriages  and  of  children, 
presents  the  following  comments  :  — 

"  In  consequence  of  this  belief,  and  of  the  many  factitious 
wants  that  accompany  a  luxurious  civilization,  a  very  large  and 


Notes.  269 

increasing  proportion  of  women  are  left  to  make  their  way  in 
life  without  any  male  protector,  and  the  difficulties  they  have  to 
encounter  through  physical  weakness  have  been  most  unnaturally 
and  most  fearfully  aggravated  by  laws  and  customs  which,  rest 
ing  on  the  old  assumption  that  every  woman  should  be  a  wife, 
habitually  deprive  them  of  the  pecuniary  and  educational  advan 
tages  of  men,  exclude  them  absolutely  from  very  many  of  the 
employments  in  which  they  might  earn  a  subsistence,  encumber 
their  course  in  others  by  a  heartless  ridicule  or  by  a  steady  dis 
approbation,  and  consign,  in  consequence,  many  thousands  to 
the  most  extreme  and  agonizing  poverty,  and  perhaps  a  still  lar 
ger  number  to  the  paths  of  vice. 

"At  the  same  time  a  momentous  revolution,  the  effects  of  which 
can  as  yet  be  but  imperfectly  descried,  has  taken  place  in  the 
chief  spheres  of  female  industry  that  remain.  The  progress  of 
machinery  has  destroyed  its  domestic  character.  The  distaff  has 
fallen  from  the  hand.  The  needle  is  being  rapidly  superseded, 
and  the  work  which,  from  the  days  of  Homer  to  the  present  cen 
tury,  was  accomplished  in  the  centre  of  the  family,  has  been 
transferred  to  the  crowded  manufactory." 

The  necessity  of  those  reforms  which  many  noble  women  are 
now  urging  upon  public  attention  is  clearly  set  forth  in  eloquent 
facts  like  these. 

PAGE  198. 
"  Is  against  nature" 

A  curious  instance  of  the  temerity  with  which  flagrant  errors 
are  pressed  into  the  service  of  criticism  is  presented  in  some 
remarks  in  the  N.  Y.  Nation.  "There  is  probably,"  it  says,  "  no 
incident  of  woman's  condition  which  is  more  clearly  natural  than 
her  passivity  in  all  that  relates  to  marriage.  In  waiting  to  be 
wooed,  she  not  only  complies  with  one  of  the  conventional  pro 
prieties,  but  obeys  what  appears  to  be  a  law  of  sex,  not  amongst 
hitman  beings  only,  but  among  all  animals?'' 

These  remarks  have  been  adopted  by  many  American  journal 
ists,  and  have  been  accepted  perhaps  by  many  readers  as  settling 


270  The  Woman  who  Dared. 

the  whole  question  with  scientific  accuracy  and  force,  so  far  as 
analogies  drawn  from  the  habits  of  the  lower  animals  can  settle  it. 
But  if  the  critic,  while  buttering  his  daily  bread  or  putting  cream 
into  his  daily  coffee,  had  acquainted  himself  with  the  habits  of 
the  useful  animal  to  which  he  is  indebted,  he  would  never  have 
been  guilty  of  so  prodigious  a  blunder.  So  far  from  passively 
"  waiting  to  be  wooed,"  the  cow,  when  the  sexual  impulse  is 
awakened,  will  disturb  the  whole  neighborhood  by  her  bellowings. 
Should  the  critic  reply  that  this  is  because  she  is  kept  in  an  un 
natural  state  of  restraint,  such  reply  would  add  only  additional 
force  to  the  contradiction  of  the  argument  which  he  would  offer. 
Other  examples  in  abundance,  in  confutation  of  his  assumption, 
could  no  doubt  be  furnished.  But  even  were  that  assumption 
true,  we  might  sometimes  be  led  to  rather  awkward  results  if  we 
were  to  take  the  habits  of  the  lower  animals  as  authoritative. 
Certain  animals  have  not  infrequently  an  eccentric  habit  of  de 
stroying  their  offspring.  Some  of  our  Chinese  brethren,  borrow 
ing  a  hint  perhaps  from  the  brute  creation,  are  said  to  think  it  no 
sin  to  kill  such  female  children  as  they  have  no  use  for.  We 
hope  that  no  enterprising  critic  will  recommend  such  a  solution 
as  this  of  the  woman  problem. 


THE   END. 


Cambridge  :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


